A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 
He  went  *way  swearing 

Photogravure  by  John  Andrew  &  Son  after  original  by  Reginald  Bollet 


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D*  tuxr 

dorka  of 


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OME  THOUSAND  IMPRESSIONS   HAVE  BEEN  TAKEN 
FOB  THIS   EDITION 


COPTMSHT,  1909 
BY  THE   EDINBURGH    SOCIETY 


CONTENTS 

MM 

THE  EDUCATION  OF  OTIS  YEERE i 

AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH 39 

A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 53 

THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 77 

A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 97 

ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 133 

IN  THE  MATTER  OF  A  PRIVATE 161 

THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS  OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  181 


UNDER  THE  DEODARS 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"HE    WENT    AWAY    SWEARING"     (See 

page  120)   Fontispiece 

Photogravure    by    John    Andrew    &    Son   after 
original  by  Reginald  Bolles 

SHE  WAS  .  .  .  TAKEN  OUT  OF  THE  SAD- 
DLE A  LIMP  HEAP  51 

Mezzogravure    by   John    Andrew   &   Son   after 
original  by  Reginald  Bolles 

"BEG    Y'    PARDON,  SIR,  BUT  DORMER'S 

'ORRID  BAD"    153 

Mezzogravure    by    John    Andrew    &    Son    after 
original  by  Reginald  Bolles 

BLIND    WITH    RAGE  .  .  .  AND    RUSHED 

AT  SLANE   176 

Mezzogravure    by   John   Andrew   &   Son   after 
original  by  Reginald  Bolles 


UNDER  THE  DEODARS 


UNDER   THE   DEODARS 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  OTIS  YEERE 


In  the  pleasant  orchard-closes 
"God  bless  all  our  gains,"  say  we; 
But  "May  God  bless  all  our  losses," 
Better  suits  with  our  degree. 

— The  Lost  Bower. 

THIS  is  the  history  of  a  failure;  but  the 
woman  who  failed  said  that  it  might  be 
an  instructive  tale  to  put  into  print  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  younger  generation.  The  younger 
generation  does  not  want  instruction,  being 
perfectly  willing  to  instruct  if  any  one  will 
listen  to  it.  None  the  less,  here  begins  the  story 
where  every  right-minded  story  should  begin, 
that  is  to  say  at  Simla,  where  all  things  begin 
and  many  come  to  an  evil  end. 

The  mistake  was  due  to  a  very  clever  woman 
making  a  blunder  and  not  retrieving  it.  Men 
are  licensed  to  stumble,  but  a  clever  woman's 
mistake  is  outside  the  regular  course  of  Nature 
and  Providence;  since  all  good  people  know 
that  a  woman  is  the  only  infallible  thing  in  this 


2  THE  EDUCATION 

world,  except  Government  Paper  of  the  '79 
issue,  bearing  interest  at  four  and  a  half  per 
cent.  Yet,  we  have  to  remember  that  six  con- 
secutive days  of  rehearsing  the  leading  part  of 
The  Fallen  Angel,  at  the  New  Gaiety  Theatre 
where  the  plaster  is  not  yet  properly  dry,  might 
have  brought  about  an  unhingement  of  spirits 
which,  again,  might  have  led  to  eccentricities. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  came  to  "The  Foundry"  to 
tiffin  with  Mrs.  Mallowe,  her  one  bosom  friend, 
for  she  was  in  no  sense  "a  woman's  woman." 
And  it  was  a  woman's  tiffin,  the  door  shut  to 
all  the  world;  and  they  both  talked  chiffons, 
which  is  French  for  Mysteries. 

"I've  enjoyed  an  interval  of  sanity,"  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  announced,  after  tiffin  was  over  and 
the  two  were  comfortably  settled  in  the  little 
writing-room  that  opened  out  of  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe's  bedroom. 

"My  dear  girl,  what  has  he  done?"  said 
Mrs.  Mallowe,  sweetly.  It  is  noticeable  that 
ladies  of  a  certain  age  call  each  "dear  girl," 
just  as  commissioners  of  twenty-eight  years' 
standing  address  their  equals  in  the  Civil  List 
as  "my  boy." 

"There's  no  he  in  the  case.  Who  am  I  that 
an  imaginary  man  should  be  always  credited  to 
me?  Am  I  an  Apache?" 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  3 

"No,  dear,  but  somebody's  scalp  is  gen- 
erally drying  at  your  wigwam-door.  Soaking, 
rather." 

This  was  an  allusion  to  the  Hawley  Boy,  who 
was  in  the  habit  of  riding  all  across  Simla  in 
the  Rains,  to  call  on  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  That 
lady  laughed. 

"For  my  sins,  the  Aide  at  Tyrconnel  last 
night  told  me  off  to  The  Mussuck.  Hsh! 
Don't  laugh.  One  of  my  most  devoted  ad- 
mirers. When  the  duff  came — some  one  really 
ought  to  teach  them  to  make  puddings  at 
Tyrconnel — The  Mussuck  was  at  liberty  to  at- 
tend to  me." 

"Sweet  soul !  I  know  his  appetite,"  said  Mrs. 
Mallowe.  "Did  he,  oh  did  he,  begin  his  woo- 
ing?" 

"By  a  special  mercy  of  Providence,  no.  He 
explained  his  importance  as  a  Pillar  of  the  Em- 
pire. I  didn't  laugh." 

"Lucy,  I  don't  believe  you." 

"Ask  Captain  Sangar;  he  was  on  the  other 
side.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  The  Mussuck 
dilated." 

"I  think  I  can  see  him  doing  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Mallowe,  pensively,  scratching  her  fox-terrier's 
ears. 

"I  was  properly  impressed.     Most  properly. 


4  THE  EDUCATION 

I  yawned  openly.  'Strict  supervision,  and  play 
them  off  one  against  the  other,'  said  The  Mus- 
suck,  shoveling  down  his  ice  by  tureenfuls,  I 
assure  you.  'That,  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  is  the  secret 
of  our  Government.' ' 

Mrs.  Mallowe  laughed  long  and  merrily. 
"And  what  did  you  say?" 

"Did  you  ever  know  me  at  loss  for  an  answer 
yet?  I  said:  'So  I  have  observed  in  my  deal- 
ings with  you.'  The  Mussuck  swelled  with 
pride.  He  is  coming  to  call  on  me  to-morrow. 
The  Hawley  Boy  is  coming  too." 

"  'Strict  supervision  and  play  them  off  one 
against  the  other.  That,  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  is  the 
secret  of  our  Government.'  And  I  dare  say  if 
we  could  get  to  The  Mussuck's  heart,  we  should 
find  that  he  considers  himself  a  man  of  the 
world." 

"As  he  is  of  the  other  two  things.  I  like  The 
Mussuck,  and  I  won't  have  you  call  him  names. 
He  amuses  me." 

"He  has  reformed  you,  too,  by  what  appears. 
Explain  the  interval  of  sanity,  and  hit  Tim  on 
the  nose  with  the  paper-cutter,  please.  That 
dog  is  too  fond  of  sugar.  Do  you  take  milk 
in  yours?" 

"No,  thanks.  Polly,  I'm  wearied  of  this  life. 
It's  hollow." 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  5 

"Turn  religious,  then.  I  always  said  that 
Rome  would  be  your  fate." 

"Only  exchanging  half  a  dozen  attaches  in 
red  for  one  in  black,  and  if  I  fasted,  the 
wrinkles  would  come,  and  never,  never  go. 
Has  it  ever  struck  you,  dear,  that  I'm  getting 
old?" 

"Thanks  for  your  courtesy.  I'll  return  it. 
Ye-es,  we  are  both  not  exactly — how  shall  I  put 
it?" 

"What  we  have  been.  'I  feel  it  in  my  bones,' 
as  Mrs.  Crossley  says.  Polly,  I've  wasted  my 
life." 

"As  how?" 

"Never  mind  how.  I  feel  it.  I  want  to  be  a 
Power  before  I  die." 

"Be  a  Power  then.  You've  wits  enough  for 
anything — and  beauty?" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  pointed  a  teaspoon  straight  at 
her  hostess.  "Polly,  if  you  heap  compliments 
on  me  like  this,  I  shall  cease  to  believe  that 
you're  a  woman.  Tell  me  how  I  am  to  be  a 
Power." 

"Inform  The  Mussuck  that  he  is  the  most 
fascinating  and  slimmest  man  in  Asia,  and  he'll 
tell  you  anything  and  everything  you  please." 

"Bother  The  Mussuck!  I  mean  an  intel- 
lectual Power — not  a  gas-power.  Polly,  I'm 
going  to  start  a  salon" 


6  THE  EDUCATION 

Mrs.  Mallowe  turned  lazily  on  the  sofa  and 
rested  her  head  on  her  hand.  "Hear  the  words 
of  the  Preacher,  the  son  of  Baruch,"  she  said. 

"Will  you  talk  sensibly?" 

"I  will,  dear,  for  I  see  that  you  are  going  to 
make  a  mistake." 

"I  never  made  a  mistake  in  my  life — at  least, 
never  one  that  I  couldn't  explain  away  after- 
ward." 

"Going  to  make  a  mistake"  went  on  Mrs. 
Mallowe,  composedly.  "It  is  impossible  to 
start  a  salon  in  Simla.  A  bar  would  be  much 
more  to  the  point." 

"Perhaps,  but  why?    It  seems  so  easy." 

"Just  what  makes  it  so  difficult.  How  many 
clever  women  are  there  in  Simla  ?" 

"Myself  and  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"Modest  woman!  Mrs.  Feardon  would 
thank  you  for  that.  And  how  many  clever 
men  ?" 

"Oh — er — hundreds,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
vaguely. 

"What  a  fatal  blunder !  Not  one.  They  are 
all  bespoke  by  the  Government.  Take  my  hus- 
band, for  instance.  Jack  was  a  clever  man, 
though  I  say  so  who  shouldn't.  Government 
has  eaten  him  up.  All  his  ideas  and  powers  of 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  7 

conversation — he  really  used  to  be  a  good 
talker,  even  to  his  wife,  in  the  old  days — are 
taken  from  him  by  this — this  kitchen-sink  of  a 
Government.  That's  the  case  with  every  man 
up  here  who  is  at  work.  I  don't  suppose  a 
Russian  convict  under  the  knout  is  able  to 
amuse  the  rest  of  his  gang;  and  all  our  men- 
folk here  are  gilded  convicts." 

"But  there  are  scores" — 

"I  know  what  you're  going  to  say.  Scores 
of  idle  men  up  on  leave.  I  admit  it,  but  they 
are  all  of  two  objectionable  sets.  The  Civilian 
who'd  be  delightful  if  he  had  the  military  man's 
knowledge  of  the  world  and  style,  and  the 
military  man  who'd  be  adorable  if  he  had  the 
Civilian's  culture." 

"Detestable  word !  Have  Civilians  culchaw  ? 
I  never  studied  the  breed  deeply." 

"Don't  make  fun  of  Jack's  service.  Yes. 
They're  like  the  teapoys  in  the  Lakka  Bazar — 
good  material  but  not  polished.  They  can't 
help  themselves,  poor  dears.  A  Civilian  only 
begins  to  be  tolerable  after  he  has  knocked 
about  the  world  for  fifteen  years." 

"And  a  military  man?" 

"When  he  has  had  the  same  amount  of  serv- 
ice. The  young  of  both  species  are  horrible. 
You  would  have  scores  of  them  in  your  salon" 


8  THE  EDUCATION 

"I  would  not!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  fiercely. 
"I  would  tell  the  bearer  to  darwaza  band 
them.  I'd  put  their  own  colonels  and  commis- 
sioners at  the  door  to  turn  them  away.  I'd 
give  them  to  the  Topsham  girl  to  play  with." 

"The  Topsham  girl  would  be  grateful  for  the 
gift.  But  to  go  back  to  the  salon.  Allowing 
that  you  had  gathered  all  your  men  and  women 
together,  what  would  you  do  with  them  ?  Make 
them  talk  ?  They  would  all  with  one  accord  be- 
gin to  flirt.  Your  salon  would  become  a  glori- 
fied Peliti's — a  'Scandal  Point'  by  lamp-light." 

"There's  a  certain  amount  of  wisdom  in  that 
view." 

"There's  all  the  wisdom  in  the  world  in  it. 
Surely,  twelve  Simla  seasons  ought  to  have 
taught  you  that  you  can't  focus,  anything  in 
India ;  and  a  salon,  to  be  any  good  at  all,  must 
be  permanent.  In  two  seasons  your  roomful 
would  be  scattered  all  over  Asia.  We  are  only 
little  bits  of  dirt  on  the  hillsides — here  one  day 
and  blown  down  the  khud  the  next.  We  have 
lost  the  art  of  talking — at  least  our  men  have. 
We  have  no  cohesion" — 

"George  Eliot  in  the  flesh,"  interpolated  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  wickedly. 

"And  collectively,  my  dear  scoffer,  we,  men 
and  women  alike,  have  no  influence.  Come  into 
the  veranda  and  look  at  the  Mall !" 


The  two  looked  down  on  the  now  rapidly  fill- 
ing road,  for  all  Simla  was  abroad  to  steal  a 
stroll  between  a  shower  and  a  fog. 

"How  do  you  propose  to  fix  that  river? 
Look!  There's  The  Mussuck — head  of  good- 
ness knows  what.  He  is  a  power  in  the  land, 
though  he  does  eat  like  a  costermonger. 
There's  Colonel  Blone,  and  General  Grucher, 
and  Sir  Dugald  Delane,  and  Sir  Henry  Haugh- 
ton,  and  Mr.  Jellalatty.  All  Heads  of  Depart- 
ments, and  all  powerful." 

"And  all  my  fervent  admirers,"  said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  piously.  "Sir  Henry  Haughton 
raves  about  me.  But  go  on." 

"One  by  one,  these  men  are  worth  something. 
Collectively,  they're  just  a  mob  of  Anglo- 
Indians.  Who  cares  for  what  Anglo-Indians 
say?  Your  salon  won't  weld  the  Departments 
together  and  make  you  mistress  of  India,  dear. 
And  these  creatures  won't  talk  administrative 
'shop'  in  a  crowd — your  salon — because  they 
are  so  afraid  of  the  men  in  the  lower  ranks 
overhearing  it.  They  have  forgotten  what  of 
Literature  and  Art  they  ever  knew,  and  the 
women" — 

"Can't  talk  about  anything  except  the  last 
Gymkhana,  or  the  sins  of  their  last  nurse.  I 
was  calling  on  Mrs.  Derwills  this  morning." 


10  THE  EDUCATION 

"You  admit  that  ?  They  can  talk  to  the  sub- 
alterns though,  and  the  subalterns  can  talk  to 
them.  Your  salon  would  suit  their  views  ad- 
mirably, if  you  respected  the  religious  preju- 
dices of  the  country  and  provided  plenty  of 
kala  juggahs" 

"Plenty  of  kala  juggahs.  Oh  my  poor  little 
idea !  Kala  juggahs  in  a  salon !  But  who  made 
you  so  awfully  clever?" 

"Perhaps  I've  tried  myself;  or  perhaps  I 
know  a  woman  who  has.  I  have  preached  and 
expounded  the  whole  matter  and  the  conclusion 
thereof" — 

"You  needn't  go  on.  'Is  Vanity.'  Polly,  I 
thank  you.  These  vermin" — Mrs.  Hauksbee 
waved  her  hand  from  the  veranda  to  two  men 
in  the  crowd  below  who  had  raised  their  hats  to 
her — "these  vermin  shall  not  rejoice  in  a  new 
Scandal  Point  or  an  extra  Peliti's.  I  will  aban- 
don the  notion  of  a  salon.  It  did  seem  so 
tempting,  though.  But  what  shall  I  do?  I 
must  do  something." 

"Why  ?    Are  not  Abana  and  Pharphar" — 

"Jack  has  made  you  nearly  as  bad  as  him- 
self! I  want  to,  of  course.  I'm  tired  of  every- 
thing and  everybody,  from  a  moonlight  picnic 
at  Seepee  to  the  blandishments  of  The  Mus- 
suck." 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  n 

"Yes — that  comes,  too,  sooner  or  later. 
Have  you  nerve  enough  to  make  your  bow 
yet?"  ' 

Mrs.  Hauksbee's  mouth  shut  grimly.  Then 
she  laughed.  "I  think  I  see  myself  doing  it. 
Big  pink  placards  on  the  Mall :  'Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee!  Positively  her  last  appearance  on  any 
stage!  This  is  to  give  notice!'  No  more 
dances ;  no  more  rides ;  no  more  luncheons ;  no 
more  theatricals  with  supper  to  follow ;  no  more 
sparring  with  one's  dearest,  dearest  friend;  no 
more  fencing  with  an  inconvenient  man  who 
hasn't  wit  enough  to  clothe  what  he's  pleased 
to  call  his  sentiments  in  passable  speech;  no 
more  parading  of  The  Mussuck  while  Mrs. 
Tarkass  calls  all  round  Simla,  spreading  hor- 
rible stories  about  me!  No  more  of  anything 
that  is  thoroughly  wearying,  abominable  and 
detestable,  but,  all  the  same,  makes  life  worth 
the  having.  Yes!  I  see  it  all!  Don't  inter- 
rupt, Polly,  I'm  inspired.  A  mauve  and  white 
striped  'cloud'  round  my  excellent  shoulders,  a 
seat  in  the  fifth  row  of  the  Gaiety,  and  both 
horses  sold.  Delightful  vision!  A  comfortable 
armchair,  situated  in  three  different  draughts, 
at  every  ballroom;  and  nice,  large,  sensible 
shoes  for  all  the  couples  to  stumble  over  as  they 
go  into  the  veranda!  Then  at  supper.  Can't 


12  THE  EDUCATION 

you  imagine  the  scene  ?  The  greedy  mob  gone 
away.  Reluctant  subaltern,  pink  all  over  like 
a  newly-powdered  baby, — they  really  ought  to 
tan  subalterns  before  they  are  exported,  Polly 
— sent  back  by  the  hostess  to  do  his  duty. 
Slouches  up  to  me  across  the  room,  tugging  at 
a  glove  two  sizes  too  large  for  him — I  hate  a 
man  who  wears  gloves  like  overcoats — and  try- 
ing to  look  as  if  he'd  thought  of  it  from  the 
first.  'May  I  ah-have  the  pleasure  'f  takin'  you 
'nt'  supper?'  Then  I  get  up  with  a  hungry 
smile.  Just  like  this." 

"Lucy,  how  can  you  be  so  absurd  ?" 
"And  sweep  out  on  his  arm.  So!  After 
supper  I  shall  go  away  early,  you  know,  be- 
cause I  shall  be  afraid  of  catching  cold.  No 
one  will  look  for  my  'rickshaw.  Mine,  so 
please  you!  I  shall  stand,  always  with  that 
mauve  and  white  'cloud'  over  my  head,  while 
the  wet  soaks  into  my  dear,  old,  venerable  feet 
and  Tom  swears  and  shouts  for  the  mem- 
sahib's  gharri.  Then  home  to  bed  at  half -past 
eleven !  Truly  excellent  life — helped  out  by  the 
visits  of  the  Padri,  just  fresh  from  burying 
somebody  down  below  there."  She  pointed 
through  the  pines,  toward  the  Cemetery,  and 
continued  with  vigorous  dramatic  gesture — 
"Listen!  I  see  it  all — down,  down  even  to 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  113 

the  stays !  Such  stays !  Six-eight  a  pair,  Polly, 
with  red  flannel — or  list  is  it? — that  they  put 
into  the  tops  of  those  fearful  things.  I  can 
draw  you  a  picture  of  them." 

"Lucy,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  go  waving 
your  arms  about  in  that  idiotic  manner !  Recol- 
lect, every  one  can  see  you  from  the  Mall." 

"Let  them  see!  They'll  think  I  am  rehears- 
ing for  The  Fallen  Angel.  Look!  There's 
The  Mussuck.  How  badly  he  rides.  There!" 

She  blew  a  kiss  to  the  venerable  Indian  ad- 
ministrator with  infinite  grace. 

"Now,"  she  continued,  "he'll  be  chaffed 
about  that  at  the  Club  in  the  delicate  manner 
those  brutes  of  men  affect,  and  the  Hawley 
Boy  will  tell  me  all  about  it — softening  the  de- 
tails for  fear  of  shocking  me.  That  boy  is  too 
good  to  live,  Polly.  I've  serious  thoughts  of 
recommending  him  to  throw  up  his  Commission 
and  go  into  the  Church.  In  his  present  frame 
of  mind  he  would  obey  me.  Happy,  happy 
child!" 

"Never  again,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  with  an 
affectation  of  indignation,  "shall  you  tiffin 
here!  'Lucindy,  your  behavior  is  scand'lus.' ' 

"All  your  fault,"  retorted  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
"for  suggesting  such  a  thing  as  my  abdication. 
No!  /awaiy-nevaire !  I  will  act,  ride,  frivol, 


14  THE  EDUCATION 

talk  scandal,  dine  out,  and  appropriate  the 
legitimate  captives  of  any  woman  I  choose,  un- 
till  I  d-r-r-rop,  or  a  better  woman  than  I  puts 
me  to  shame  before  all  Simla, — and  it's  dust 
and  ashes  in  my  mouth  while  I'm  doing  it !" 

She  swept  into  the  drawing-room.  Mrs. 
Mallowe  followed  and  put  an  arm  round  her 
waist. 

"I'm  not!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  defiantly, 
rummaging  for  her  handkerchief.  "I've  been 
dining  out  the  last  ten  nights,  and  rehearsing  in 
the  afternoon.  You'd  be  tired  yourself.  It's 
only  because  I'm  tired." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  did  not  offer  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
any  pity  or  ask  her  to  lie  down,  but  gave  her 
another  cup  of  tea,  and  went  on  with  the  talk. 

"I've  been  through  that  too,  dear,"  she  said. 

"I  remember,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  a  gleam 
of  fun  on  her  face.  "In  '84,  wasn't  it?  You 
went  out  a  great  deal  less  next  season." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  smiled  in  a  superior  and 
Sphinx-like  fashion. 

"I  became  an  Influence,"  said  she. 

"Good  gracious,  child,  you  didn't  join  the 
Theosophists  and  kiss  Buddha's  big  toe,  did 
you  ?  I  tried  to  get  into  their  set  once,  but  they 
cast  me  out  for  a  sceptic — without  a  chance  of 
improving  my  poor  little  mind,  too." 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  15 

"No,  I  didn't  Theosophilander.  Jack  says" — 

"Never  mind  Jack.  What  a  husband  says  is 
known  before.  What  did  you  do?" 

"I  made  a  lasting  impression." 

"So  have  I — for  four  months.  But  that 
didn't  console  me  in  the  least.  I  hated  the  man. 
Will  you  stop  smiling  in  that  inscrutable  way 
and  tell  me  what  you  mean?" 

Mrs.  Mallowe  told. 

****** 

"And — you — mean — to — say  that  it  is  abso- 
lutely Platonic  on  both  sides?" 

"Absolutely,  or  I  should  never  have  taken  it 
up." 

"And  his  last  promotion  was  due  to  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Mallowe  nodded. 

"And  you  warned  him  against  the  Topsham 
girl?" 

Another  nod. 

"And  told  him  of  Sir  Dugald  Delane's  pri- 
vate memo  about  him?" 

A  third  nod. 

"Why?" 

"What  a  question  to  ask  a  woman !  Because 
it  amused  me  at  first.  I  am  proud  of  my  prop- 
erty now.  If  I  live,  he  shall  continue  to  be  suc- 
cessful. Yes,  I  will  put  him  upon  the  straight 
road  to  Knighthood,  and  everything  else  that  a 


16  THE  EDUCATION 

man  values.    The  rest  depends  upon  himself." 

"Polly,  you  are  a  most  extraordinary 
woman." 

"Not  in  the  least.  I'm  concentrated,  that's 
all.  You  diffuse  yourself,  dear;  and  though 
all  Simla  knows  your  skill  in  managing  a 
team"— 

"Can't  you  choose  a  prettier  word  ?" 

"Team,  of  half  a  dozen,  from  The  Mussuck 
to  the  Hawley  Boy,  you  gain  nothing  by  it. 
Not  even  amusement." 

"And  you?" 

"Try  my  recipe.  Take  a  man,  not  a  boy, 
mind,  but  an  almost  mature,  unattached  man, 
and  be  his  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend. 
You'll  find  it  the  most  interesting  occupation 
that  you  ever  embarked  on.  It  can  be  done — 
you  needn't  look  like  that — because  I've  done 
it." 

"There's  an  element  of  risk  about  it  that 
makes  the  notion  attractive.  I'll  get  such  a 
man  and  say  to  him,  'Now,  understand  that 
there  must  be  no  flirtation.  Do  exactly  what 
I  tell  you,  profit  by  my  instruction  and  counsels, 
and  all  will  yet  be  well.'  Is  that  the  idea  ?" 

"More  or  less,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  with  an 
unfathomable  smile.  "But  be  sure  he  under- 
stands." 


II 


Dribble-dribble — trickle-trickle — 

What  a  lot  of  raw  dust ! 
My  dollie's  had  an  accident 

And  out  came  all  the  sawdust! 

Nursery  Rhyme. 

So  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  in  "The  Foundry"  which 
overlooks  Simla  Mall,  sat  at  the  feet  of  Mrs. 
Mallowe  and  gathered  wisdom.  The  end  of 
the  Conference  was  the  Great  Idea  upon  which 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  so  plumed  herself. 

"I  warn  you,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  beginning 
to  repent  of  her  suggestion,  "that  the  matter  is 
not  half  so  easy  as  it  looks.  Any  woman1 — 
even  the  Topsham  girl — can  catch  a  man,  but 
very,  very  few  know  how  to  manage  him  when 
caught." 

"My  child,"  was  the  answer,  "I've  been  a 
female  St.  Simon  Stylites  looking  down  upon 
men  for  these — these  years  past.  Ask  The 
Mussuck  whether  I  can  manage  them." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  departed  humming,  "I'll  go 
to  him  and  say  to  him  in  manner  most 
ironical."  Mrs.  Mallowe  laughed  to  herself. 
Then  she  grew  suddenly  sober.  "I  wonder 
whether  I've  done  well  in  advising  that  amuse- 
17 


i8  THE  EDUCATION 

ment?  Lucy's  a  clever  woman,  but  a  thought 
too  careless." 

A  week  later,  the  two  met  at  a  Monday  Pop. 
"Well?"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe. 

"I've  caught  him!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee; 
her  eyes  were  dancing  with  merriment. 

"Who  is  it,  mad  woman?  I'm  sorry  I  ever 
spoke  to  you  about  it." 

"Look  between  the  pillars.  In  the  third 
row;  fourth  from  the  end.  You  can  see  his 
face  now.  Look!" 

"Otis  Yeere !  Of  all  the  improbable  and  im- 
possible people!  I  don't  believe  you." 

"Hsh!  Wait  till  Mrs.  Tarkass  begins  mur- 
dering Milton  Wellings;  and  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it.  S-s-ss!  That  woman's  voice  always 
reminds  me  of  an  Underground  train  coming 
into  Earl's  Court  with  the  breaks  on.  Now 
listen.  It  is  really  Otis  Yeere." 

"So  I  see,  but  does  it  follow  that  he  is  your 
property!" 

"He  is!  By  right  of  trove.  I  found  him, 
lonely  and  unbefriended,  the  very  next  night 
after  our  talk,  at  the  Dugald  Delane's  burra- 
khana.  I  liked  his  eyes,  and  I  talked  to  him. 
Next  day  he  called.  Next  day  we  went  for  a 
ride  together,  and  to-day  he's  tied  to  my  'rick- 
shaw-whtels  hand  and  foot.  You'll  see  when 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  19 

the  concert's  over.    He  doesn't  know  I'm  here 
yet." 

"Thank  goodness  you  haven't  chosen  a  boy. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him,  assuming 
that  you've  got  him?" 

"Assuming,  indeed!  Does  a  woman — do  / 
— ever  make  a  mistake  in  that  sort  of  thing? 
First" — Mrs.  Hauksbee  ticked  off  the  items  os- 
tentatiously on  her  little  gloved  fingers — 
"First,  my  dear,  I  shall  dress  him  properly. 
At  present  his  raiment  is  a  disgrace,  and  he 
wears  a  dress-shirt  like  a  crumpled  sheet  of  the 
Pioneer.  Secondly,  after  I  have  made  him  pre- 
sentable, I  shall  form  his  manners — his  morals 
are  above  reproach." 

"You  seem  to  have  discovered  a  great  deal 
about  him  considering  the  shortness  of  your 
acquaintance." 

"Surely  you  ought  to  know  that  the  first 
proof  a  man  gives  of  his  interest  in  a  woman 
is  by  talking  to  her  about  his  own  sweet  self. 
If  the  woman  listens  without  yawning,  he  be- 
gins to  like  her.  If  she  flatters  the  animal's 
vanity,  he  ends  by  adoring  her." 

"In  some  cases." 

"Never  mind  the  exceptions.  I  know  which 
one  you  are  thinking  of.  Thirdly,  and  lastly, 
after  he  is  polished  and  made  pretty,  I  shall, 


20  THE  EDUCATION 

as  you  said,  be  his  guide,  philosopher,  and 
friend,  and  he  shall  become  a  success — as  great 
a  success  as  your  friend.  I  always  wondered 
how  that  man  got  on.  Did  The  Mussuck  come 
to  you  with  the  Civil  List  and,  dropping  on 
one  knee — no,  two  knees,  a  la  Gibbon — hand  it 
to  you  and  say,  'Adorable  angel,  choose  your 
friend's  appointment'  ?" 

"Lucy,  your  long  experiences  of  the  Military 
Department  have  demoralized  you.  One 
doesn't  do  that  sort  of  thing  on  the  Civil 
Side." 

"No  disrespect  meant  to  Jack's  Service,  my 
dear.  I  only  asked  for  information.  Give  me 
three  months,  and  see  what  changes  I  shall 
work  in  my  prey." 

"Go  your  own  way,  since  you  must.  But  I'm 
sorry  that  I  was  weak  enough  to  suggest  the 
amusement." 

"  'I  am  all  discretion,  and  may  be  trusted  to 
an  in-fin-ite  extent,' "  quoted  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
from  The  Fallen  Angel;  and  the  conversation 
ceased  with  Mrs.  Tarkass's  last,  long-drawn 
war-whoop. 

Her  bitterest  enemies — and  she  had  many — 
could  hardly  accuse  Mrs.  Hauksbee  of  wasting 
her  time.  Otis  Yeere  was  one  of  those 
wandering  "dumb"  characters,  foredoomed 


21 


through  life  to  be  nobody's  property.  Ten 
years  in  Her  Majesty's  Bengal  Civil  Service, 
spent,  for  the  most  part,  in  undesirable  Dis- 
tricts, had  given  him  little  to  be  proud  of,  and 
nothing  to  bring  confidence.  Old  enough  to 
have  lost  the  first  fine  careless  rapture  that 
showers  on  the  immature  'Stunt  imaginary 
Commissionerships  and  Stars,  and  sends  him 
into  the  collar  with  coltish  earnestness  and 
abandon ;  too  young  to  be  yet  able  to  look  back 
upon  the  progress  he  had  made,  and  thank 
Providence  that  under  the  conditions  of  the 
day  he  had  come  even  so  far,  he  stood  upon 
the  dead-centre  of  his  career.  And  when  a 
man  stands  still,  he  feels  the  slightest  impulse 
from  without.  Fortune  had  ruled  that  Otis 
Yeere  should  be,  for  the  first  part  of  his  serv- 
ice, one  of  the  rank  and  file  who  are  ground 
up  in  the  wheels  of  the  Administration ;  losing 
heart  and  soul,  and  mind  and  strength,  in  the 
process.  Until  steam  replaces  manual  power 
in  the  working  of  the  Empire,  there  must  al- 
ways be  this  percentage — must  always  be  the 
men  who  are  used  up,  expended,  in  the  mere 
mechanical  routine.  For  these  promotion  is 
far  off  and  the  mill-grind  of  every  day  very 
instant.  The  Secretariats  know  them  only  by 
name ;  they  are  not  the  picked  men  of  the  Dis- 


23  THE  EDUCATION 

tricts  with  Divisions  and  Collectorates  await- 
ing them.  They  are  simply  the  rank  and  file 
— the  food  for  fever — sharing  with  the  ryot 
and  the  plough-bullock  the  honor  of  being  the 
plinth  on  which  the  State  rests.  The  older 
ones  have  lost  their  aspirations;  the  younger 
are  putting  theirs  aside  with  a  sigh.  Both 
learn  to  endure  patiently  until  the  end  of  the 
day.  Twelve  years  in  the  rank  and  file,  men 
say,  will  sap  the  hearts  of  the  bravest  and  dull 
the  wits  of  the  most  keen. 

Out  of  this  life  Otis  Yeere  had  fled  for  a 
few  months;  drifting,  in  the  hope  of  a  little 
masculine  society,  into  Simla.  When  his  leave 
was  over  he  would  return  to  his  swampy,  sour- 
green,  under-manned  Bengal  district;  to  the 
native  Assistant,  the  native  Doctor,  the  native 
Magistrate,  the  steaming,  sweltering  Station, 
the  ill-kempt  City,  and  the  undisguised  inso- 
lence of  the  Municipality  that  babbled  away 
the  lives  of  men.  Life  was  cheap,  however. 
The  soil  spawned  humanity,  as  it  bred  frogs 
in  the  Rains,  and  the  gap  of  the  sickness  of 
one  season  was  filled  to  overflowing  by  the 
fecundity  of  the  next.  Otis  was  unfeignedly 
thankful  to  lay  down  his  work  for  a  little  while 
and  escape  from  the  seething,  whining,  weakly 
hive,  impotent  to  help  itself,  but  strong  in  its 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  «3 

power    to    cripple,    thwart,    and    annoy    the 
sunken-eyed  man,  who,  by  official  irony,  was 

said  to  be  "in  charge"  of  it. 

****** 

"I  knew  there  were  women-dowdies  in  Ben- 
gal. They  come  up  here  sometimes.  But  I 
didn't  know  that  there  were  men-dowds,  too." 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  it  occurred  to  Otis 
Yeere  that  his  clothes  wore  the  mark  of  the 
ages.  It  will  be  seen  that  his  friendship  with 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  had  made  great  strides. 

As  that  lady  truthfully  says,  a  man  is  never 
so  happy  as  when  he  is  talking  about  himself. 
From  Otis  Yeere's  lips  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  before 
long,  learned  everything  that  she  wished  to 
know  about  the  subject  of  her  experiment: 
learned  what  manner  of  life  he  had  led  in  what 
she  vaguely  called  "those  awful  cholera  dis- 
tricts"; learned,  too,  but  this  knowledge  came 
later,  what  manner  of  life  he  had  purposed  to 
lead  and  what  dreams  he  had  dreamed  in  the 
year  of  grace  '77,  before  the  reality  had 
knocked  the  heart  out  of  him.  Very  pleasant 
are  the  shady  bridle-paths  round  Prospect  Hill 
for  the  telling  of  such  confidences. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee  to  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe.  "Not  yet.  I  must  wait  until  the  man  is 
properly  dressed,  at  least  Great  Heavens,  is  it 


24  THE  EDUCATION 

possible  that  he  doesn't  know  what  an  honor  it 
is  to  be  taken  up  by  Me!" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  did  not  reckon  false  modesty 
as  one  of  her  failings. 

"Always  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee!"  murmured 
Mrs.  Mallowe,  with  her  sweetest  smile,  to  Otis. 
"Oh  you  men,  you  men!  Here  are  our  Pun- 
jabis growling  because  you've  monopolized  the 
nicest  woman  in  Simla.  They'll  tear  you  to 
pieces  on  the  Mall,  some  day,  Mr.  Yeere." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  rattled  down-hill,  having  sat- 
isfied herself,  by  a  glance  through  the  fringe 
of  her  sunshade,  of  the  effect  of  her  words. 

The  shot  went  home.  Of  a  surety  Otis 
Yeere  was  somebody  in  this  bewildering  whirl 
of  Simla — had  monopolized  the  nicest  woman 
in  it  and  the  Punjabis  were  growling.  The 
notion  justified  a  mild  glow  of  vanity.  He 
had  never  looked  upon  his  acquaintance  with 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  as  a  matter  for  general  interest. 
The  knowledge  of  envy  was  a  pleasant  feel- 
ing to  the  man  of  no  account.  It  was  intensi- 
fied later  in  the  day  when  a  luncher  at  the 
Club  said,  spitefully,  "Well,  for  a  debilitated 
Ditcher,  Yeere,  you  are  going  it.  Hasn't  any 
kind  friend  told  you  that  she's  the  most  dan- 
gerous woman  in  Simla?" 

Yeere  chuckled  and  passed  out.    When,  oh 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  25 

when,  would  his  new  clothes  be  ready?  He 
descended  into  the  Mall  to  inquire;  and  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  coming  over  the  Church  Ridge  in 
her  'rickshaw,  looked  down  upon  him  approv- 
ingly. "He's  learning  to  carry  himself  as  if 
he  were  a  man,  instead  of  a  piece  of  furniture, 
— and,"  she  screwed  up  her  eyes  to  see  the  bet- 
ter through  the  sunlight — "he  is  a  man  when 
he  holds  himself  like  that.  Oh  blessed  Conceit, 
what  should  we  be  without  you?" 

With  the  new  clothes  came  a  new  stock  of 
self-confidence.  Otis  Yeere  discovered  that  he 
could  enter  a  room  without  breaking  into  a 
gentle  perspiration — could  cross  one,  even  to 
talk  to  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  as  though  rooms  were 
meant  to  be  crossed.  He  was  for  the  first  time 
in  nine  years  proud  of  himself,  and  contented 
with  his  life,  satisfied  with  his  new  clothes, 
and  rejoicing  in  the  friendship  of  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee. 

"Conceit  is  what  the  poor  fellow  wants,"  she 
said  in  confidence  to  Mrs.  Mallowe.  "I  believe 
they  must  use  Civilians  to  plough  the  fields 
with  in  Lower  Bengal.  You  see  I  have  to  be- 
gin from  the  very  beginning — haven't  I?  But 
you'll  admit,  won't  you,  dear,  that  he  is  im- 
mensely improved  since  I  took  him  in  hand. 
Only  give  me  a  little  more  time  and  he  won't 
know  himself." 


26  THE  EDUCATION 

Indeed,  Yeere  was  rapidly  beginning  to  for- 
get what  he  had  been.  One  of  his  own  rank 
and  file  put  the  matter  brutally  when  he  asked 
Yeere,  in  reference  to  nothing,  "And  who  has 
been  making  you  a  Member  of  Council,  lately  ? 
You  carry  the  side  of  half  a  dozen  of  'em." 

"I — I'm  awf-ly  sorry.  I  didn't  mean  it, 
you  know,"  said  Yeere,  apologetically. 

"There'll  be  no  holding  you,"  continued  the 
old  stager,  grimly.  "Climb  down,  Otis — climb 
down,  and  get  all  that  beastly  affectation 
knocked  out  of  you  with  fever!  Three  thou- 
sand a  month  wouldn't  support  it." 

Yeere  repeated  the  incident  to  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee.  He  had  come  to  look  upon  her  as  his 
Mother  Confessor. 

"And  you  apologized!"  she  said.  "Oh, 
shame!  I  hate  a  man  who  apologizes.  Never 
apologize  for  what  your  friend  called  'side.' 
Never!  It's  a  man's  business  to  be  insolent  and 
overbearing  until  he  meets  with  a  stronger. 
Now,  you  bad  boy,  listen  to  me." 

Simply  and  straightforwardly,  as  the  'rick- 
shaw loitered  round  Jakko,  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
preached  to  Otis  Yeere  the  Great  Gospel  of 
Conceit,  illustrating  it  with  living  pictures  en- 
countered during  their  Sunday  afternoon 
stroll. 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  27 

"Good  gracious!"  she  ended,  with  the  per- 
sonal argument,  "you'll  apologize  next  for  be- 
ing my  attache ?" 

"Never!"  said  Otis  Yeere.  "That's  another 
thing  altogether.  I  shall  always  be" — 

"What's  coming?"  thought  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 

"Proud  of  that,"  said  Otis. 

"Safe  for  the  present,"  she  said  to  herself. 

"But  I'm  afraid  I  have  grown  conceited. 
Like  Jeshurun,  you  know.  When  he  waxed 
fat,  then  he  kicked.  It's  the  having  no  worry 
on  one's  mind  and  the  Hill  air,  I  suppose." 

"Hill  air,  indeed!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee  to 
herself.  "He'd  have  been  hiding  in  the  Club 
till  the  last  day  of  his  leave,  if  I  hadn't  dis- 
covered him."  And  aloud — 

"Why  shouldn't  you  be?  You  have  every 
right  to." 

"I!    Why?" 

"Oh,  hundreds  of  things.  I'm  not  going  to 
waste  this  lovely  afternoon  by  explaining;  but 
I  know  you  have.  What  was  that  heap  of 
manuscript  you  showed  me  about  the  grammar 
of  the  aboriginal — what's  their  names?" 

"Gullals.  A  piece  of  nonsense.  I've  far  too 
much  work  to  do  to  bother  over  Gullals  now. 
You  should  see  my  District.  Come  down  with 
your  husband  some  day  and  I'll  show  you 


28  THE  EDUCATION 

round.  Such  a  lovely  place  in  the  Rains!  A 
sheet  of  water  with  the  railway-embankment 
and  the  snakes  sticking  out,  and  in  the  sum- 
mer, green  flies  and  green  squash.  The  people 
would  die  of  fear  if  you  shook  a  dogwhip  at 
'em.  But  they  know  you're  forbidden  to  do 
that,  so  they  conspire  to  make  your  life  a  bur- 
den to  you.  My  District's  worked. by  some 
man  at  Darjiling,  on  the  strength  of  a  native 
pleader's  false  reports.  Oh  it's  a  heavenly 
place!" 

Otis  Yeere  laughed  bitterly. 

"There's  not  the  least  necessity  that  you 
should  stay  in  it.  Why  do  you?" 

"Because  I  must.  How'm  I  to  get  out  of 
it?" 

"How!  In  a  hundred  and  fifty  ways.  If 
there  weren't  so  many  people  on  the  road,  I'd 
like  to  box  your  ears.  Ask,  my  dear  boy,  ask! 
Look !  There  is  young  Hexarly  with  six  years' 
service  and  half  you  talents.  He  asked  for 
what  he  wanted,  and  he  got  it.  See,  down  by 
the  Convent!  There's  McArthurson  who  has 
come  to  his  present  position  by  asking — sheer, 
downright  asking — after  he  had  pushed  him- 
self out  of  the  rank  and  file.  One  man  is  as 
good  as  another  in  your  service — believe  me. 
I've  seen  Simla  for  more  seasons  than  I  care 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  29 

to  think  about.  Do  you  suppose  men  are 
chosen  for  appointments  because  of  their  spe- 
cial fitness  beforehand?  You  have  all  passed 
a  high  test — what  do  you  call  it  ? — in  the  begin- 
ning, and,  except  for  the  few  who  have  gone 
altogether  to  the  bad,  you  can  all  work  hard. 
Asking  does  the  rest.  Call  it  cheek,  call  it  in- 
solence, call  it  anything  you  like,  but  ask! 
Men  argue — yes,  I  know  what  men  say — that 
a  man,  by  the  mere  audacity  of  his  request, 
must  have  some  good  in  him.  A  weak  man 
doesn't  say:  'Give  me  this  and  that.'  He 
whines :  'Why  haven't  I  been  given  this  and 
that?'  If  you  were  in  the  Army,  I  should  say 
learn  to  spin  plates  or  play  a  tambourine  with 
your  toes.  As  it  is — ask!  You  belong  to  a 
Service  that  ought  to  be  able  to  command  the 
Channel  Fleet,  or  set  a  leg  at  twenty  minutes' 
notice,  and  yet  you  hesitate  over  asking  to  es- 
cape from  a  squashy  green  district  where  you 
admit  you  are  not  master.  Drop  the  Bengal 
Government  altogether.  Even  Darjiling  is  a 
little  out-of-the-way  hole.  I  was  there  once, 
and  the  rents  were  extortionate.  Assert  your- 
self. Get  the  Government  of  India  to  take  you 
over.  Try  to  get  on  the  Frontier,  where  every 
man  has  a  grand  chance  if  he  can  trust  him- 
self. Go  somewhere!  Do  something!  You 


30  THE  EDUCATION 

have  twice  the  wits  and  three  times  the  pres- 
ence of  the  men  up  here,  and,  and" — Mrs. 
Hauksbee  paused  for  breath ;  then  continued — 
"and  in  any  way  you  look  at  it,  you  ought  to. 
You  who  could  go  so  far !" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Yeere,  rather  taken 
aback  by  the  unexpected  eloquence.  "I  haven't 
such  a  good  opinion  of  myself." 

It  was  not  strictly  Platonic,  but  it  was 
Policy.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  laid  her  hand  lightly 
upon  the  ungloved  paw  that  rested  on  the 
turned-back  'rickshaw  hood,  and,  looking  the 
man  full  in  the  face,  said  tenderly,  almost  too 
tenderly,  "I  believe  in  you  if  you  mistrust  your- 
self. Is  that  enough,  my  friend?" 

"It  is  enough,"  answered  Otis,  very 
solemnly. 

He  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  redreaming 
the  dreams  that  he  had  dreamed  eight  years 
ago,  but  through  them  all  ran,  as  sheet-light- 
ning through  golden  cloud,  the  light  of  Mrs. 
Hauksbee's  violet  eyes. 

Curious  and  impenetrable  are  the  mazes  of 
Simla  life — the  only  existence  in  this  desolate 
land  worth  the  living.  Gradually  it  went 
abroad  among  men  and  women,  in  the  pauses 
between  dance,  play  and  Gymkhana,  that  Otis 
Yeere,  the  man  with  the  newly-lit  light  of  self- 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  31 

confidence  in  his  eyes,  had  "done  something 
decent"  in  the  wilds  whence  he  came.  He  had 
brought  an  erring  Municipality  to  reason,  ap- 
propriated the  funds  on  his  own  responsibility, 
and  saved  the  lives  of  hundreds.  He  knew 
more  about  the  Guilds  than  any  living  man. 
Had  a  vast  knowledge  of  the  aboriginal  tribes ; 
was,  in  spite  of  his  juniority,  the  greatest  au- 
thority on  the  aboriginal  Guilds.  No  one  quite 
knew  who  or  what  the  Guilds  were  till  The 
Mussuck,  who  had  been  calling  on  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  and  prided  himself  upon  picking 
people's  brains,  explained  they  were  a  tribe  of 
ferocious  hillmen,  somewhere  near  Sikkim, 
whose  friendship  even  the  Great  Indian  Empire 
would  find  it  worth  her  while  to  secure.  Now 
we  know  that  Otis  Yeere  had  showed  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  his  MS.  notes  of  six  years'  standing 
on  these  same  Guilds.  He  had  told  her,  too, 
how,  sick  and  shaken  with  the  fever  their  negli- 
gence had  bred,  crippled  by  the  loss  of  his  pet 
clerk,  and  savagely  angry  at  the  desolation  in 
his  charge,  he  had  once  damned  the  collective 
eyes  of  his  "intelligent  local  board"  for  a  set 
of  haramzadas.  Which  act  of  "brutal  and 
tyrannous  oppression"  won  him  a  Reprimand 
Royal  from  the  Bengal  Government;  but  in 
the  anecdote  as  amended  for  Northern  con- 


32  THE  EDUCATION 

sumption  we  find  no  record  of  this.  Hence  we 
are  forced  to  conclude  that  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
edited  his  reminiscences  before  sowing  them  in 
idle  ears,  ready,  as  she  well  knew,  to  exag- 
gerate good  or  evil.  And  Otis  Yeere  bore  him- 
self as  befitted  the  hero  of  many  tales. 

"You  can  talk  to  me  when  you  don't  fall 
into  a  brown  study.  Talk  now,  and  talk  your 
brightest  and  best,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 

Otis  needed  no  spur.  Look  to  a  man  who 
has  the  counsel  of  a  woman  of  or  above  the 
world  to  back  him.  So  long  as  he  keeps  his 
head,  he  can  meet  both  sexes  on  equal  ground 
— an  advantage  never  intended  by  Providence, 
who  fashioned  Man  on  one  day  and  Woman 
on  another,  in  sign  that  neither  should  know 
more  than  a  very  little  of  the  other's  life. 
Such  a  man  goes  far,  or,  the  counsel  being 
withdrawn,  collapses  suddenly  while  his  world 
seeks  the  reason. 

Generalled  by  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  who,  again, 
had  all  Mrs.  Mallowe's  wisdom  at  her  disposal, 
proud  of  himself  and,  in  the  end,  believing  in 
himself  because  he  was  believed  in,  Otis  Yeere 
stood  ready  for  any  fortune  that  might  befall, 
certain  that  it  would  be  good.  He  would  fight 
for  his  own  hand,  and  intended  that  this  sec- 
ond struggle  should  lead  to  better  issue  than 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  33 

the  first  helpless  surrender  of  the  bewildered 
'Stunt. 

What  might  have  happened,  it  is  impossible 
to  say.  This  lamentable  thing  befell,  bred 
directly  by  a  statement  of  Mrs.  Hauksbee  that 
she  would  spend  the  next  season  in  Darjiling. 

"Are  you  certain  of  that?"  said  Otis  Yeere. 

"Quite.    We're  writing  about  a  house  now." 

Otis  Yeere  "stopped  dead,"  as  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee put  it  in  discussing  the  relapse  with  Mrs. 
Mallowe. 

"He  has  behaved,"  she  said,  angrily,  "just 
like  Captain  Kerrington's  pony — only  Otis  is  a 
donkey — at  the  last  Gymkhana.  Planted  his 
forefeet  and  refused  to  go  on  another  step. 
Polly,  my  man's  going  to  disappoint  me. 
What  shall  I  do?" 

As  a  rule,  Mrs.  Mallowe  does  not  approve  of 
staring,  but  on  this  occasion  she  opened  her 
eyes  to  the  utmost. 

"You  have  managed  cleverly  so  far,"  she 
said.  "Speak  to  him,  and  ask  him  what  he 
means." 

"I  will — at  to-night's  dance." 

"No — o,  not  at  a  dance,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe, 
cautiously.  "Men  are  never  themselves  quite 
at  dances.  Better  wait  till  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 


34  THE  EDUCATION 

"Nonsense.  If  he's  going  to  'vert  in  this  in- 
sane way,  there  isn't  a  day  to  lose.  Are  you 
going?  No?  Then  sit  up  for  me,  there's  a 
dear.  I  shan't  stay  longer  than  supper  under 
any  circumstances." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  waited  through  the  evening, 
looking  long  and  earnestly  into  the  fire,  and 

sometimes  smiling  to  herself. 

****** 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!  That  man's  an  idiot!  A 
raving,  positive  idiot!  I'm  sorry  I  ever  saw 
him!" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  burst  into  Mrs.  Mallowe's 
house,  at  midnight,  almost  in  tears. 

"What  in  the  world  has  happened?"  said 
Mrs.  Mallowe,  but  her  eyes  showed  that  she 
had  guessed  an  answer. 

"Happened !  Everything  has  happened !  He 
was  there.  I  went  to  him  and  said,  'Now, 
what  does  this  nonsense  mean?'  Don't  laugh, 
dear,  I  can't  bear  it.  But  you  know  what  I 
mean  I  said.  Then  it  was  a  square,  and  I  sat 
it  out  with  him  and  wanted  an  explanation,  and 
he  said —  Oh!  I  haven't  patience  with  such 
idiots !  You  know  what  I  said  about  going  to 
Darjiling  next  year?  It  doesn't  matter  to  me 
where  I  go.  I'd  have  changed  the  Station  and 
lost  the  rent  to  have  saved  this.  He  said,  in 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  35 

so  many  words,  that  he  wasn't  going  to  try  to 
work  up  any  more,  because — because  he  would 
be  shifted  into  a  province  away  from  Darjil- 
ing,  and  his  own  District,  where  these  creatures 
are,  is  within  a  day's  journey" — 

"Ah-hh!"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  in  a  tone  of 
one  who  has  successfully  tracked  an  obscure 
word  through  a  large  dictionary. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  anything  so  mad — so 
absurd  ?  And  he  had  the  ball  at  his  feet.  He 
had  only  to  kick  it!  I  would  have  made  him 
anything!  Anything  in  the  wide  world.  He 
could  have  gone  to  the  world's  end.  I  would 
have  helped  him.  I  made  him,  didn't  I,  Polly  ? 
Didn't  I  create  that  man?  Doesn't  he  owe 
everything  to  me?  And  to  reward  me,  just 
when  everything  was  nicely  arranged,  by  this 
lunacy  that  spoiled  everything !" 

"Very  few  men  understand  your  devotion 
thoroughly." 

"Oh,  Polly,  don't  laugh  at  me!  I  give  men 
up  from  this  hour.  I  could  have  killed  him 
then  and  there.  What  right  had  this  man — this 
Thing  I  had  picked  out  of  his  filthy  paddy- 
fields — to  make  love  to  me?" 

"He  did  that,  did  he?" 

"He  did.  I  don't  remember  half  he  said,  I 
was  so  angry.  Oh,  but  such  a  funny  thing 


36  THE  EDUCATION 

happened!  I  can't  help  laughing  at  it  now, 
though  I  felt  nearly  ready  to  cry  with  rage. 
He  raved  and  I  stormed — I'm  afraid  we  must 
have  made  an  awful  noise  in  our  kala  juggah. 
Protect  my  character,  dear,  if  it's  all  over 
Simla  to-morrow — and  then  he  bobbed  for- 
ward in  the  middle  of  this  insanity — I  firmly 
believe  the  man's  demented — and  kissed  me!" 

"Morals  above  reproach,"  purred  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe. 

"So  they  were — so  they  were!  It  was  the 
most  absurd  kiss.  I  don't  believe  he'd  ever 
kissed  a  woman  in  his  life  before.  I  threw  my 
head  back,  and  it  was  a  sort  of  slidy,  pecking 
dab,  just  on  the  end  of  the  chin — here."  Mrs. 
H^uksbee  tapped  her  masculine  little  chin  with 
her  fan.  "Then,  of  course,  I  was  furiously 
angry,  and  told  him  that  he  was  no  gentleman, 
and  I  was  sorry  I'd  ever  met  him,  and  so  on. 
He  was  crushed  so  easily  that  I  couldn't  be 
very  angry.  Then  I  came  away  straight  to 
you." 

"Was  this  before  or  after  supper  ?" 

"Oh!  before — oceans  before.  Isn't  it  per- 
fectly disgusting?" 

"Let  me  think.  I  withhold  judgment  till  to- 
morrow. Morning  brings  counsel." 

But  morning  brought  only  a  servant  with  a 


OF  OTIS  YEERE  37 

dainty  bouquet  of  Annandale  roses  for  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  to  wear  at  the  dance  at  Viceregal 
Lodge  that  night." 

"He  doesn't  seem  to  be  very  penitent,"  said 
Mrs.  Mallowe.  "What's  the  billet-doux  in  the 
centre?" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  opened  the  neatly  folded 
note, — another  accomplishment  that  she  had 
taught  Otis, — read  it,  and  groaned  tragically. 

"Last  wreck  of  a  feeble  intellect!  Poetry! 
Is  it  his  own,  do  you  think?  Oh,  that  I  ever 
built  my  hopes  on  such  a  maudlin  idiot !" 

"No.  It's  a  quotation  from  Mrs.  Browning, 
and,  in  view  of  the  facts  of  the  case,  as  Jack 
says,  uncommonly  well  chosen.  Listen — 

"  'Sweet  thou  hast  trod  on  a  heart, 

Pass  !    There's  a  world  full  of  men ; 
And  women  as  fair  as  thou  art, 
Must  do  such  things  now  and  then. 

"'Thou  only  hast  stepped  unaware — 

Malice  not  one  can  impute ; 
And  why  should  a  heart  have  been  there, 
In  the  way  of  a  fair  woman's  foot  ?' " 

"I  didn't— I  didn't— I  didn't!"  said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  angrily,  her  eyes  rilling  with  tears; 
"there  was  no  malice  at  all.  Oh,  it's  too  vexa- 
tious!" 

"You've    misunderstood    the    compliment," 


38  THE  EDUCATION 

said  Mrs.  Mallowe.  "He  clears  you  completely 
and — ahem — I  should  think  by  this,  that  he  has 
cleared  completely  too.  My  experience  of  men 
is  that  when  they  begin  to  quote  poetry,  they 
are  going  to  flit.  Like  swans  singing  before 
they  die,  you  know." 

"Polly,  you  take  my  sorrows  in  a  most  un- 
feeling way." 

"Do  I?  Is  it  so  terrible?  If  he's  hurt  your 
vanity,  I  should  say  that  you've  done  a  certain 
amount  of  damage  to  his  heart." 

"Oh,  you  never  can  tell  about  a  man!"  said 
Mrs.  Hauksbee. 


AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH 


AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH 

Men  say  it  was  a  stolen  tide — 
The  Lord  that  sent  it  he  knows  all, 

But  in  mine  ear  will  aye  abide 
The  message  that  the  bells  let  fall, 

And  awesome  bells  they  were  to  me, 

That  in  the  dark  rang,  "Enderby." 

— Jean  Ingelow. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  Man  and 
his  Wife  and  a  Tertium  Quid. 
All  three  were  unwise,  but  the  Wife  was  the 
unwisest.  The  Man  should  have  looked  after 
his  Wife,  who  should  have  avoided  the  Ter- 
tium Quid,  who,  again,  should  have  married 
a  wife  of  his  own,  after  dean  and  open  flirta- 
tions, to  which  nobody  can  possibly  object, 
round  Jakko  or  Observatory  Hill.  When  you 
see  a  young  man  with  his  pony  in  a  white 
lather,  and  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head 
flying  down-hill  at  fifteen  miles  an  hour  to 
meet  a  girl  who  will  be  properly  surprised  to 
meet  him,  you  naturally  approve  of  that  young 
man,  and  wish  him  Staff  appointments,  and 
take  an  interest  in  his  welfare,  and,  as  the 

41 


42  AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH 

proper  time  comes,  give  them  sugar-tongs  or 
side-saddles  according  to  your  means  and  gen- 
erosity. 

The  Tertium  Quid  flew  down-hill  on  horse- 
back, but  it  was  to  meet  the  Man's  Wife;  and 
when  he  flew  up-hill  it  was  for  the  same  end. 
The  Man  was  in  the  Plains,  earning  money 
for  his  Wife  to  spend  on  dresses  and  four- 
hundred-rupee  bracelets,  and  inexpensive  lux- 
uries of  that  kind.  He  worked  very  hard,  and 
sent  her  a  letter  or  a  post-card  daily.  She 
also  wrote  to  him  daily,  and  said  that  she  was 
longing  for  him  to  come  up  to  Simla.  The 
Tertium  Quid  used  to  lean  over  her  shoulder 
and  laugh  as  she  wrote  the  notes.  Then  the 
two  would  ride  to  the  Post  Office  together. 

Now,  Simla  is  a  strange  place  and  its  cus- 
toms are  peculiar ;  nor  is  any  man  who  has  not 
spent  at  least  ten  seasons  there  qualified  to  pass 
judgment  on  circumstantial  evidence,  which  is 
the  most  untrustworthy  in  the  Courts.  For 
these  reasons,  and  for  others  which  need  not 
appear,  I  decline  to  state  positively  whether 
there  was  anything  irretrievably  wrong  in  the 
relations  between  the  Man's  Wife  and  the  Ter- 
tium Quid.  If  there  was,  and  hereon  you  must 
form  your  own  opinion,  it  was  the  Man's 
Wife's  fault.  She  was  kittenish  in  her  man- 


AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH  43 

ners,  wearing  generally  an  air  of  soft  and  fluffy 
innocence.  But  she  was  deadly  learned  and 
evil-instructed;  and  now  and  again,  when  the 
mask  dropped,  men  saw  this,  shuddered  and — 
almost  drew  back.  Men  are  occasionally  par- 
ticular, and  the  least  particular  men  are  always 
the  most  exacting. 

Simla  is  eccentric  in  its  fashion  of  treating 
friendships.  Certain  attachments  which  have 
set  and  crystallized  through  half  a  dozen  sea- 
sons acquire  almost  the  sancity  of  the  marriage 
bond,  and  are  revered  as  such.  Again,  certain 
attachments  equally  old,  and,  to  all  appearance, 
equally  venerable,  never  seem  to  win  any  recog- 
nized official  status ;  while  a  chance-sprung  ac- 
quaintance, not  two  months  born,  steps  into 
the  place  which  by  right  belongs  to  the  senior. 
There  is  no  law  reducible  to  print  which  reg- 
ulates these  affairs. 

Some  people  have  a  gift  which  secures  them 
infinite  toleration,  and  others  have  not.  The 
Man's  Wife  had  not.  If  she  looked  over  the 
garden  wall,  for  instance,  women  taxed  her 
with  stealing  their  husbands.  She  complained 
pathetically  that  she  was  not  allowed  to  choose 
her  own  friends.  When  she  put  up  her  big 
white  muff  to  her  lips,  and  gazed  over  it  and 
under  her  eyebrows  at  you  as  she  said  this 


44  AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH 

thing,  you  felt  that  she  had  been  infamously 
misjudged,  and  that  all  the  other  women's  in- 
stincts were  all  wrong;  which  was  absurd. 
She  was  not  allowed  to  own  the  Tertium  Quid 
in  peace ;  and  was  so  strangely  constructed  that 
she  would  not  have  enjoyed  peace  had  she  been 
so  permitted.  She  preferred  some  semblance 
of  intrigue  to  cloak  even  her  most  common- 
place actions. 

After  two  months  of  riding  first  round 
Jakko,  then  Elysium,  then  Summer  Hill,  then 
Observatory  Hill,  then  under  Jutogh,  and  last- 
ly up  and  down  the  Cart  Road  as  far  as  the 
Tara  Devi  gap  in  the  dusk,  she  said  to  the  Ter- 
tium Quid,  "Frank,  people  say  we  are  too  much 
together,  and  people  are  so  horrid." 

The  Tertium  Quid  pulled  his  moustache,  and 
replied  that  horrid  people  were  unworthy  of 
the  consideration  of  nice  people. 

"But  they  have  done  more  than  talk — they 
have  written — written  to  my  hubby — I'm  sure 
of  it,"  said  the  Man's  Wife,  and  she  pulled  a 
letter  from  her  husband  out  of  her  saddle- 
pocket  and  gave  it  to  the  Tertium  Quid. 

It  was  an  honest  letter,  written  by  an  honest 
man,  then  stewing  in  the  Plains  on  two  hun- 
dred rupees  a  month  (for  he  allowed  his  wife 
eight  hundred  and  fifty),  and  in  a  silk  banian 


AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH  45 

and  cotton  trousers.  It  is  said  that,  perhaps, 
she  had  not  thought  of  the  unwisdom  of  allow- 
ing her  name  to  be  so  generally  coupled  with 
the  Tertium  Quid's ;  that  she  was  too  much  of 
a  child  to  understand  the  dangers  of  that  sort 
of  thing;  that  he,  her  husband,  was  the  last 
man  in  the  world  to  interfere  jealously  with  her 
little  amusements  and  interests,  but  that  it 
would  be  better  were  she  to  drop  the  Tertium 
Quid  quietly  and  for  her  husband's  sake.  The 
letter  was  sweetened  with  many  pretty  little 
pet  names,  and  it  amused  the  Tertium  Quid 
considerably.  He  and  She  laughed  over  it,  so 
that  you,  fifty  yards  away,  could  see  their 
shoulders  shaking  while  the  horses  slouched 
along  side  by  side. 

Their  conversation  was  not  worth  reporting. 
The  upshot  of  it  was  that,  next  day,  no  one  saw 
the  Man's  Wife  and  the  Tertium  Quid  to- 
gether. They  had  both  gone  down  to  the 
Cemetery,  which,  as  a  rule,  is  only  visited 
officially  by  the  inhabitants  of  Simla. 

A  Simla  funeral  with  the  clergyman  riding, 
the  mourners  riding,  and  the  coffin  creaking  as 
it  swings  between  the  bearers,  is  one  of  the 
most  depressing  things  on  this  earth,  particu- 
larly when  the  procession  passes  under  the  wet, 
dank  dip  beneath  the  Rockcliffe  Hotel,  where 


46  AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH 

the  sun  is  shut  out,  and  all  the  hill  streams  are 
wailing  and  weeping  together  as  they  go  down 
the  valleys. 

Occasionally,  folk  tend  the  graves,  but  we  in 
India  shift  and  are  transferred  so  often  that, 
at  the  end  of  the  second  year,  the  Dead  have  no 
friends — only  acquaintances  who  are  far  too 
busy  amusing  themselves  up  the  hill  to  attend 
to  old  partners.  The  idea  of  using  a  Cemetery 
as  a  rendezvous  is  distinctly  a  feminine  one. 
A  man  would  have  said  simply  "Let  people 
talk.  We'll  go  down  the  Mall."  A  woman  is 
made  differently,  especially  if  she  be  such  a 
woman  as  the  Man's  Wife.  She  and  the  Ter- 
tium  Quid  enjoyed  each  other's  society  among 
the  graves  of  men  and  women  whom  they  had 
known  and  danced  with  aforetime. 

They  used  to  take  a  big  horse-blanket  and  sit 
on  the  grass  a  little  to  the  left  of  the  lower  end, 
where  there  is  a  dip  in  the  ground,  and  where 
the  occupied  graves  stop  short  and  the  ready- 
made  ones  are  not  ready.  Each  well-regulated 
Indian  Cemetery  keeps  half  a  dozen  graves 
permanently  open  for  contingencies  and  in- 
cidental wear  and  tear.  In  the  Hills  these  are 
more  usually  baby's  size,  because  children  who 
come  up  weakened  and  sick  from  the  Plains 
often  succumb  to  the  effects  of  the  Rains  in  the 


AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH  47 

Hills  or  get  pneumonia  from  their  ayahs  tak- 
ing them  through  damp  pine-woods  after  the 
sun  has  set.  In  Cantonments,  of  course,  the 
man's  size  is  more  in  request;  these  arrange- 
ments varying  with  the  climate  and  popula- 
tion. 

One  day  when  the  Man's  Wife  and  the  Ter- 
tium  Quid  had  just  arrived  in  the  Cemetery, 
they  saw  some  coolies  breaking  ground.  They 
had  marked  out  a  full-size  grave,  and  the  Ter- 
tium  Quid  asked  them  whether  any  Sahib  was 
sick.  They  said  that  they  did  not  know;  but 
it  was  an  order  that  they  should  dig  a  Sahib's 
grave. 

"Work  away,"  said  the  Tertium  Quid,  "and 
let's  see  how  it's  done." 

The  coolies  worked  away,  and  the  Man's 
Wife  and  the  Tertium  Quid  watched  and 
talked  for  a  couple  of  hours  while  the  grave 
was  being  deepened.  Then  a  coolie,  taking  the 
earth  in  baskets  as  it  was  thrown  up,  jumped 
over  the  grave. 

"That's  queer,"  said  the  Tertium  Quid. 
"Where's  my  ulster?" 

"What's  queer?"  said  the  Man's  Wife. 

"I  have  got  a  chill  down  my  back — just  as 
if  a  goose  had  walked  over  my  grave." 

"Why  do  you  look  at  the  thing,  then?"  said 
the  Man's  Wife.  "Let  us  go." 


48  AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH 

The  Tertium  Quid  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
grave,  and  stared  without  answering  for  a 
space.  Then  he  said,  dropping  a  pebble  down, 
"It  is  nasty — and  cold;  horribly  cold.  I  don't 
think  I  shall  come  to  the  Cemetery  any  more. 
I  don't  think  grave-digging  is  cheerful." 

The  two  talked  and  agreed  that  the  Cemetery 
was  depressing.  They  also  arranged  for  a  ride 
next  day  out  from  the  Cemetery  through  the 
Mashobra  Tunnel  up  to  Fagoo  and  back,  be- 
cause all  the  world  was  going  to  a  garden-party 
at  Viceregal  Lodge,  and  all  the  people  of 
Mashobra  would  go  too. 

Coming  up  the  Cemetery  road,  the  Tertium 
Quid's  horse  tried  to  bolt  up-hill,  being  tired 
with  standing  so  long,  and  managed  to  strain 
a  back  sinew. 

"I  shall  have  to  take  the  mare  to-morrow," 
said  the  Tertium  Quid,  "and  she  will  stand 
nothing  heavier  than  a  snaffle." 

They  made  their  arrangements  to  meet  in  the 
Cemetery,  after  allowing  all  the  Mashobra  peo- 
ple time  to  pass  into  Simla.  That  night  it 
rained  heavily,  and,  next  day,  when  the  Ter- 
tium Quid  came  to  the  trysting-place,  he  saw 
that  the  new  grave  had  a  foot  of  water  in  it, 
the  ground  being  a  tough  and  sour  clay. 

"  'Jove!    That  looks  beastly,"  said  the  Ter- 


AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH  49 

tium  Quid.  "Fancy  being  boarded  up  and 
dropped  into  that  well !" 

They  then  started  off  to  Fagoo,  the  mare 
playing  with  the  snaffle  and  picking  her  way 
as  though  she  were  shod  with  satin,  and  the 
sun  shining  divinely.  The  road  below  Mas- 
hobra  to  Fagoo  is  officially  styled  the  Himalay- 
an-Thibet Road;  but  in  spite  of  its  name  it  is 
not  much  more  than  six  feet  wide  in  most 
places,  and  the  drop  into  the  valley  below  may 
be  anything  between  one  and  two  thousand 
feet. 

"Now  we're  going  to  Thibet,"  said  the 
Man's  Wife  merrily,  as  the  horses  drew  near  to 
Fagoo.  She  was  riding  on  the  cliff-side. 

"Into  Thibet,"  said  the  Tertium  Quid,  "ever 
so  far  from  people  who  say  horrid  things,  and 
hubbies  who  write  stupid  letters.  With  you — 
to  the  end  of  the  world !" 

A  coolie  carrying  a  log  of  wood  came  round 
a  corner,  and  the  mare  went  wide  to  avoid  him 
— forefeet  in  and  haunches  out,  as  a  sensible 
mare  should  go. 

"To  the  world's  end,"  said  the  Man's  Wife, 
and  looked  unspeakable  things  over  her  near 
shoulder  at  the  Tertium  Quid. 

He  was  smiling,  but,  while  she  looked,  the 
smile  froze  stiff  as  it  were  on  his  face,  and 


50  AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH 

changed  to  a  nervous  grin — the  sort  of  grin 
men  wear  when  they  are  not  quite  easy  in  their 
saddles.  The  mare  seemed  to  be  sinking  by  the 
stern,  and  her  nostrils  cracked  while  she  was 
trying  to  realize  what  was  happening.  The 
rain  of  the  night  before  had  rotted  the  drop- 
side  of  the  Himalayan-Thibet  Road,  and  it  was 
giving  way  under  her.  "What  are  you  do- 
ing?" said  the  Man's  Wife.  The  Tertium 
Quid  gave  no  answer.  He  grinned  nervously 
and  set  his  spurs  into  the  mare,  who  rapped 
with  her  forefeet  on  the  road,  and  the  struggle 
began.  The  Man's  Wife  screamed,  "Oh, 
Frank,  get  off!" 

But  the  Tertium  Quid  was  glued  to  the  sad- 
dle— his  face  blue  and  white — and  he  looked 
into  the  Man's  Wife's  eyes.  Then  the  Man's 
Wife  clutched  at  the  mare's  head  and  caught 
her  by  the  nose  instead  of  the  bridle.  The 
brute  threw  up  her  head  and  went  down  with 
a  scream,  the  Tertium  Quid  upon  her,  and  the 
nervous  grin  still  set  on  his  face. 

The  Man's  Wife  heard  the  tinkle-tinkle  of 
little  stones  and  loose  earth  falling  off  the  road- 
way, and  the  sliding  roar  of  the  man  and  horse 
going  down.  Then  everything  was  quiet,  and 
she  called  on  Frank  to  leave  his  mare  and  walk 
up.  But  Frank  did  not  answer.  He  was  un- 


- 


AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH  51 

derneath  the  mare,  nine  hundred  feet  below, 
spoiling  a  patch  of  Indian  corn. 

As  the  revellers  came  back  from  Viceregal 
Lodge  in  the  mists  of  the  evening,  they  met  a 
temporarily  insane  woman,  on  a  temporarily 
mad  horse,  swinging  round  the  corners,  with 
her  eyes  and  her  mouth  open,  and  her  head 
like  the  head  of  a  Medusa.  She  was  stopped 
by  a  man  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  and  taken  out 
of  the  saddle,  a  limp  heap,  and  put  on  the  bank 
to  explain  herself.  This  wasted  twenty  min- 
utes, and  then  she  was  sent  home  in  a  lady's 
'rickshaw,  still  with  her  mouth  open  and  her 
hands  picking  at  her  riding-gloves. 

She  was  in  bed  through  the  following  three 
days,  which  were  rainy;  so  she  missed  attend- 
ing the  funeral  of  the  Tertium  Quid,  who  was 
lowered  into  eighteen  inches  of  water,  instead 
of  the  twelve  to  which  he  had  first  objected. 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 

Because  to  every  purpose  there  is  time  and  judgment, 
therefore  the  misery  of  man  is  great  upon  him. 

Eccles.  viii.  6. 

"[7s ATE  and  the  Government  of  India  have 
*•  turned  the  Station  of  Kashima  into  a 
prison;  and,  because  there  is  no  help  for  the 
poor  souls  who  are  now  lying  there  in  torment, 
I  write  this  story,  praying  that  the  Govern- 
ment of  India  may  be  moved  to  scatter  the  Eu- 
ropean population  to  the  four  winds. 

Kashima  is  bounded  on  all  sides  by  the  rock- 
tipped  circle  of  the  Dosehri  hills.  In  Spring,  it 
is  ablaze  with  roses;  in  Summer,  the  roses  die 
and  the  hot  winds  blow  from  the  hills ;  in  Au- 
tumn, the  white  mists  from  the  jhils  cover  the 
place  as  with  water,  and  in  Winter  the  frosts 
nip  everything  young  and  tender  to  earth- 
level.  There  is  but  one  view  in  Kashima — a 
stretch  of  perfectly  flat  pasture  and  plough- 
land,  running  up  to  the  grey-blue  scrub  of  the 
Dosehri  hills. 

There  are  no  amusements,  except  snipe  and 
tiger  shooting;  but  the  tigers  have  been  long 

55 


56  A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 

since  hunted  from  their  lairs  in  the  rock-caves, 
and  the  snipe  only  come  once  a  year.  Nar- 
karra — one  hundred  and  forty-three  miles  by 
road — is  the  nearest  station  to  Kashima.  But 
Kashima  never  goes  to  Narkarra,  where  there 
are  at  least  twelve  English  people.  It  stays 
within  the  circle  of  the  Dosehri  hills. 

All  Kashima  acquits  Mrs.  Vansuythen  of 
any  intention  to  do  harm ;  but  all  Kashima 
knows  that  she,  and  she  alone,  brought  about 
their  pain. 

Boulte,  the  Engineer,  Mrs.  Boulte,  and  Cap- 
tain Kurrell  know  this.  They  are  the  English 
population  of  Kashima,  if  we  except  Major 
Vansuythen,  who  is  of  no  importance  what- 
ever, and  Mrs.  Vansuythen,  who  is  the  most 
important  of  all. 

You  must  remember,  though  you  will  not 
understand,  that  all  laws  weaken  in  a  small  and 
hidden  community  where  there  is  no  public 
opinion.  When  a  man  is  absolutely  alone  in  a 
Station  he  runs  a  certain  risk  of  falling  into 
evil  ways.  This  risk  is  multiplied  by  every  ad- 
dition to  the  population  up  to  twelve — the  Jury 
number.  After  that,  fear  and  consequent  re- 
straint begin,  and  human  action  becomes  less 
grotesquely  jerky. 

There  was  deep  peace  in  Kashima  till  Mr§. 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY  57 

Vansuythen  arrived.  She  was  a  charming 
woman,  every  one  said  so  everywhere;  and 
she  charmed  every  one.  In  spite  of  this,  or, 
perhaps,  because  of  this,  since  Fate  is  so  per- 
verse, she  cared  only  for  one  man,  and  he  was 
Major  Vansuythen.  Had  she  been  plain  or 
stupid,  this  matter  would  have  been  intelligible 
to  Kashima.  But  she  was  a  fair  woman,  with 
very  still  grey  eyes,  the  color  of  a  lake  just  be- 
fore the  light  of  the  sun  touches  it.  No  man 
who  had  seen  those  eyes  could,  later  on,  ex- 
plain what  fashion  of  woman  she  was  to  look 
upon.  The  eyes  dazzled  him.  Her  own  sex 
said  that  she  was  "not  bad  looking,  but  spoiled 
by  pretending  to  be  so  grave."  And  yet  her 
gravity  was  natural.  It  was  not  her  habit  to 
smile.  She  merely  went  through  life,  look- 
ing at  those  who  passed;  and  the  women  ob- 
jected while  the  men  fell  down  and  wor- 
shipped. 

She  knows  and  is  deeply  sorry  for  the  evil 
she  has  done  to  Kashima ;  but  Major  Vansuy- 
then cannot  understand  why  Mrs.  Boulte  does 
not  drop  in  to  afternoon  tea  at  least  three 
times  a  week.  "When  there  are  only  two 
women  in  one  Station  they  ought  to  see  a  great 
deal  of  each  other,"  says  Major  Vansuythen. 

Long  and  long  before  ever  Mrs.  Vansuythen 


58  A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 

came  out  of  those  far-away  places  where  there 
is  society  and  amusement,  Kurrell  had  discov- 
ered that  Mrs.  Boulte  was  the  one  woman  in 
the  world  for  hm  and — you  dare  not  blame 
them.  Kashima  was  as  out  of  the  world  as 
Heaven  or  the  Other  Place,  and  the  Dosehri 
hills  kept  their  secret  well.  Boulte  had  no  con- 
cern in  the  matter.  He  was  in  camp  for  a  fort- 
night at  a  time.  He  was  a  hard,  heavy  man, 
and  neither  Mrs.  Boulte  nor  Kurrell  pitied 
him.  They  had  all  Kashima  and  each  other 
for  their  very,  very  own ;  and  Kashima  was  the 
Garden  of  Eden  in  those  days.  When  Boulte 
returned  from  his  wanderings  he  would  slap 
Kurrell  between  the  shoulders  and  call  him 
"old  fellow,"  and  the  three  would  dine  to- 
gether. Kashima  was  happy  then  when  the 
judgment  of  God  seemed  almost  as  distant  as 
Narkarra  or  the  railway  that  ran  down  to  the 
sea.  But  the  Government  sent  Major  Van- 
suythen  to  Kashima,  and  with  him  came  his 
wife. 

The  etiquette  of  Kashima  is  much  the  same 
as  that  of  a  desert  island.  When  a  stranger  is 
cast  away  there,  all  hands  go  down  to  the 
shore  to  make  him  welcome.  Kashima  assem- 
bled at  the  masonry  platform  close  to  the  Nar- 
karra Road,  and  spread  tea  for  the  Vansuy- 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY  59 

thens.  That  ceremony  was  reckoned  a  for- 
mal call,  and  made  them  free  of  the  Station,  its 
rights  and  privileges.  When  the  Vansuythens 
were  settled  down,  they  gave  a  tiny  house- 
warming  to  all  Kashima;  and  that  made  Ka- 
shima  free  of  their  house,  according  to  the  im- 
memorial usage  of  the  Station. 

Then  the  Rains  came,  when  no  one  could  go 
into  camp,  and  the  Narkarra  Road  was  washed 
away  by  the  Kasun  River,  and  in  the  cup-like 
pastures  of  Kashima  the  cattle  waded  knee- 
deep.  The  clouds  dropped  down  from  the 
Dosehri  hills  and  covered  everything. 

At  the  end  of  the  Rains,  Boulte's  manner 
toward  his  wife  changed,  and  became  demon- 
stratively affectionate.  They  had  been  mar- 
ried twelve  years,  and  the  change  startled  Mrs. 
Boulte,  who  hated  her  husband  with  the  hate 
of  a  woman  who  has  met  with  nothing  but 
kindness  from  her  mate,  and,  in  the  teeth  of 
this  kindness,  has  done  him  a  great  wrong. 
Moreover,  she  had  her  own  troubles  to  fight 
with — her  watch  to  keep  over  her  own  prop- 
erty, Kurrell.  For  two  months  the  Rains  had 
hidden  the  Dosehri  hills  and  many  other 
things  besides;  but,  when  they  lifted,  they 
showed  Mrs.  Boulte  that  her  man  among  men, 
her  Ted — for  she  called  him  Ted  in  the  old 


60  A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 

days  when  Boulte  was  out  of  earshot — was 
slipping  the  links  of  the  allegiance. 

"The  Vansuythen  Woman  has  taken  him," 
Mrs.  Boulte  said  to  herself;  and  when  Boulte 
was  away,  wept  over  her  belief,  in  the  face  of 
the  over-vehement  blandishments  of  Ted. 
Sorrow  in  Kashima  is  as  fortunate  as  Love, 
because  there  is  nothing  to  weaken  it  save  the 
flight  of  Time.  Mrs.  Boulte  had  never 
breathed  her  suspicion  to  Kurrell  because  she 
was  not  certain;  and  her  nature  led  her  to  be 
very  certain  before  she  took  steps  in  any  di- 
rection. That  is  why  she  behaved  as  she  did. 

Boulte  came  into  the  house  one  evening,  and 
leaned  against  the  door-posts  of  the  drawing- 
room,  chewing  his  moustache.  Mrs.  Boulte 
was  putting  some  flowers  into  a  vase.  There 
is  a  pretence  of  civilization  even  in  Kashima. 

"Little  woman,"  said  Boulte,  quietly,  "do 
you  care  for  me  ?" 

"Immensely,"  said  she,  with  a  laugh.  "Can 
you  ask  me  ?" 

"But  I'm  serious,"  said  Boulte.  "Do  you 
care  for  me?" 

Mrs.  Boulte  dropped  the  flowers,  and  turned 
round  quickly.  "Do  you  want  an  honest  an- 
swer?" 

"Ye-es,  I've  asked  for  it." 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY  61 

Mrs.  Boulte  spoke  in  a  low,  even  voice  for 
five  minutes,  very  distinctly,  that  there  might 
be  no  misunderstanding  her  meaning.  When 
Samson  broke  the  pillars  of  Gaza,  he  did  a  lit- 
tle thing,  and  one  not  to  be  compared  to  the  de- 
liberate pulling  down  of  a  woman's  homestead 
about  her  own  ears.  There  was  no  wise  fe- 
male friend  to  advise  Mrs.  Boulte,  the  singu- 
larly cautious  wife,  to  hold  her  hand.  She 
struck  at  Boulte's  heart,  because  her  own  was 
sick  with  suspicion  of  Kurrell,  and  worn  out 
with  the  long  strain  of  watching  alone 
through  the  Rains.  There  was  no  plan  or  pur- 
pose in  her  speaking.  The  sentences  made 
themselves;  and  Boulte  listened,  leaning 
against  the  door-post  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  When  all  was  over,  and  Mrs.  Boulte 
began  to  breathe  through  her  nose  before 
breaking  out  into  tears,  he  laughed  and  stared 
straight  in  front  of  him  at  the  Dosehri  hills. 

"Is  that  all?"  he  said.  "Thanks,  I  only 
wanted  to  know,  you  know." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  said  the 
woman,  between  her  sobs. 

"Do!  Nothing.  What  should  I  do?  Kill 
Kurrell  or  send  you  Home,  or  apply  for  leave 
to  get  a  divorce  ?  It's  two  days'  dak  into  Nar- 
karra."  He  laughed  again  and  went  on:  "I'll 


62  A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 

tell  you  what  you  can  do.  You  can  ask  Kur- 
rell  to  dinner  to-morrow — no,  on  Thursday, 
that  will  allow  you  time  to  pack — and  you  can 
bolt  with  him.  I  give  you  my  word  I  won't 
follow." 

He  took  up  his  helmet  and  went  out  of  the 
room,  and  Mrs.  Boulte  sat  till  the  moonlight 
streaked  the  floor,  thinking  and  thinking  and 
thinking.  She  had  done  her  best  upon  the  spur 
of  the  moment  to  pull  the  house  down ;  but  it 
would  not  fall.  Moreover,  she  could  not  un- 
derstand her  husband,  and  she  was  afraid. 
Then  the  folly  of  her  useless  truthfulness 
struck  her,  and  she  was  ashamed  to  write  to 
Kurrell,  saying:  "I  have  gone  mad  and  told 
everything.  My  husband  says  that  I  am  free 
to  elope  with  you.  Get  a  dak  for  Thursday, 
and  we  will  fly  after  dinner."  There  was  a 
cold-bloodedness  about  that  procedure  which 
did  not  appeal  to  her.  So  she  sat  still  in  her 
own  house  and  thought. 

At  dinner-time  Boulte  came  back  from  his 
walk,  white  and  worn  and  haggard,  and  the 
woman  was  touched  at  his  distress.  As  the 
evening  w^re  on,  she  muttered  some  expres- 
sion of  sorrow,  something  approaching  to  con- 
trition. I^oi-te  came  out  of  a  brown  study, 
and  said,  "Oh,  that!  I  wasn't  thinking  about 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY  63 

that.  By  the  way,  what  does  Kurrell  say  to 
the  elopement?" 

"I  haven't  seen  him,"  said  Mrs.  Boulte. 
"Good  God!  is  that  all?" 

But  Boulte  was  not  listening,  and  her  sen- 
tence ended  in  a  gulp. 

The  next  day  brought  no  comfort  to  Mrs. 
Boulte,  for  Kurrell  did  not  appear,  and  the 
new  life  that  she,  in  the  five  minutes'  madness 
of  the  previous  evening,  had  hoped  to  build 
out  of  the  ruins  of  the  old,  seemed  to  be  no 
nearer. 

Boulte  ate  his  breakfast,  advised  her  to  see 
her  Arab  pony  fed  in  the  veranda,  and  went 
out.  The  morning  wore  through,  and  at  mid- 
day the  tension  became  unendurai  le.  Mrs. 
Boulte  could  not  cry.  She  had  fii  isiied  crying 
in  the  night,  and  now  she  did  not  want  to  be 
left  alone.  Perhaps  the  Vansuyt1r°n  Woman 
would  talk  to  her ;  and,  since  talking  opens  the 
heart,  perhaps  there  might  be  some  nfort  to 
be  found  in  her  company.  She  .3  only 

other  woman  in  the  Station. 

In  Kashima  there  are  no  rr  calling- 

hours.  Every  one  can  drop  in  ^  every  one 
else  at  pleasure.  Mrs.  Boulu  rv.t  on  a  big 
terai  hat,  and  walked  across  to  t'v.  Vansuy- 
then's  house  to  borrow  last  week'  '  N  ^n.  The 


64  A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 

two  compounds  touched,  and  instead  of  going 
up  the  drive,  she  crossed  through  the  gap  in 
the  cactus-hedge,  entering  the  house  from  the 
back.  As  she  passed  through  the  dining-room 
she  heard,  behind  the  purdah  that  cloaked  the 
drawing-room  door,  her  husband's  voice,  say- 
ing— 

"But  on  my  Honor!  On  my  Soul  and 
Honor,  I  tell  you  she  doesn't  care  for  me.  She 
told  me  so  last  night.  I  would  have  told  you 
then  if  Vansuythen  hadn't  been  with  you.  If 
it  is  for  her  sake  that  you'll  have  nothing  to 
say  to  me,  you  can  make  your  mind  easy.  It's 
Kurrell"— 

"What?"  said  Mrs.  Vansuythen,  with  an 
hysterical  little  laugh.  "Kurrell !  Oh,  it  can't 
be!  You  two  must  have  made  some  horrible 
mistake.  Perhaps  you — you  lost  your  temper, 
or  misunderstood,  or  something.  Things  can't 
be  as  wrong  as  you  say." 

Mrs.  Vansuythen  had  shifted  her  defence  to 
avoid  the  man's  pleading,  and  was  desperately 
trying  to  keep  him  to  a  side-issue. 

"There  must  be  some  mistake,"  she  in- 
sisted, "and  it  can  be  all  put  right  again." 

Boulte  laughed  grimly. 

"It  can't  be  Captain  Kurrell!  He  told  me 
that  he  had  never  taken  the  least — the  least  in- 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY  65 

terest  in  your  wife,  Mr.  Botilte.  Oh,  do  listen ! 
He  said  he  had  not.  He  swore  he  had  not," 
said  Mrs.  Vansuythen. 

The  purdah  rustled,  and  the  speech  was  cut 
short  by  the  entry  of  a  little,  thin  woman,  with 
big  rings  round  her  eyes.  Mrs.  Vansuythen 
stood  up  with  a  gasp. 

"What  was  that  you  said?"  asked  Mrs. 
Boulte.  "Never  mind  that  man.  What  did 
Ted  say  to  you?  What  did  he  say  to  you? 
What  did  he  say  to  you?" 

Mrs.  Vansuythen  sat  down  helplessly  on  the 
sofa,  overborne  by  the  trouble  of  her  ques- 
tioner. 

"He  said — I  can't  remember  exactly  what 
he  said — but  I  understood  him  to  say — that  is 
—  But,  really,  Mrs.  Boulte,  isn't  it  rather  a 
strange  question?" 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  he  said?"  repeated 
Mrs.  Boulte.  Even  a  tiger  will  fly  before  a  bear 
robbed  of  her  whelps,  and  Mrs.  Vansuythen 
was  only  an  ordinarily  good  woman.  She  be- 
gan in  a  sort  of  desperation :  "Well,  he  said 
that  he  never  cared  for  you  at  all,  and,  of 
course,  there  was  not  the  least  reason  why  he 
should  have,  and — and — that  was  all." 

"You  said  he  swore  he  had  not  cared  for 
me.  Was  that  true?" 


66  A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vansuythen,  very  softly. 

Mrs.  Boulte  wavered  for  an  instant  where 
she  stood,  and  then  fell  forward  fainting. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  said  Boulte,  as 
though  the  conversation  had  been  unbroken. 
"You  can  see  for  yourself.  She  cares  for  him" 
The  light  began  to  break  into  his  dull  mind, 
and  he  went  on — "And  he — what  was  he  say- 
ing to  you?" 

But  Mrs.  Vansuythen,  with  no  heart  for  ex- 
planations or  impassioned  protestations,  was 
kneeling  over  Mrs.  Boulte. 

"Oh,  you  brute!"  she  cried.  "Are  all  men 
like  this  ?  Help  me  to  get  her  into  my  room — 
and  her  face  is  cut  against  the  table.  Oh,  will 
you  be  quiet,  and  help  me  to  carry  her  ?  I  hate 
you,  and  I  hate  Captain  Kurrell.  Lift  her  up 
carefully  and  now — go !  Go  away !" 

Boulte  carried  his  wife  into  Mrs.  Vansuy- 
then's  bedroom  and  departed  before  the  storm 
of  that  lady's  wrath  and  disgust,  impenitent 
and  burning  with  jealousy.  Kurrell  had  been 
making  love  to  Mrs.  Vansuythen — would  do 
Vansuythen  as  great  a  wrong  as  he  had  done 
Boulte,  who  caught  himself  considering 
whether  Mrs.  Vansuythen  would  faint  if  she 
discovered  that  the  man  she  loved  had  fore- 
sworn her. 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY  67 

In  the  middle  of  these  meditations,  Kurrell 
came  cantering  along  the  road  and  pulled  up 
with  a  cheery,  "Good-mornin'.  Been  mashing 
Mrs.  Vansuythen  as  usual,  eh  ?  Bad  thing  for 
a  sober,  married  man,  that.  What  will  Mrs. 
Boulte  say?" 

Boulte  raised  his  head  and  said,  slowly,  "Oh, 
you  liar!"  Kurrell's  face  changed.  "What's 
that?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"Nothing  much,"  said  Boulte.  "Has  my 
wife  told  you  that  you  two  are  free  to  go  off 
whenever  you  please?  She  has  been  good 
enough  to  explain  the  situation  to  me.  You've 
been  a  true  friend  to  me,  Kurrell — old  man — 
haven't  you?" 

Kurrell  groaned,  and  tried  to  frame  some 
sort  of  idiotic  sentence  about  being  willing  to 
give  "satisfaction."  But  his  interest  in  the 
woman  was  dead,  had  died  out  in  the  Rains, 
and,  mentally,  he  was  abusing  her  for  her 
amazing  indiscretion.  It  would  have  been  so 
easy  to  have  broken  off  the  thing  gently  and 
by  degrees,  and  now  he  was  saddled  with — 
Boulte's  voice  recalled  him. 

"I  don't  think  I  should  get  any  satisfaction 
from  killing  you,  and  I'm  pretty  sure  you'd 
get  none  from  killing  me." 

Then  in  a  querulous  tone,  ludicrously  dis- 
proportioned  to  his  wrongs,  Boulte  added — 


68  A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 

"Seems  rather  a  pity  that  you  haven't  the 
decency  to  keep  to  the  woman,  now  you've  got 
her.  You've  been  a  true  friend  to  her  too, 
haven't  you?" 

Kurrell  stared  long  and  gravely.  The  situ- 
ation was  getting  beyond  him. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said. 

Boulte  answered,  more  to  himself  than  the 
questioner:  "My  wife  came  over  to  Mrs.  Van- 
suythen's  just  now;  and  it  seems  you'd  been 
telling  Mrs.  Vansuythen  that  you'd  never 
cared  for  Emma.  I  suppose  you  lied,  as  usual. 
What  had  Mrs.  Vansuythen  to  do  with  you, 
or  you  with  her?  Try  to  speak  the  truth  for 
once  in  a  way." 

Kurrell  took  the  double  insult  without  winc- 
ing, and  replied  by  another  question:  "Go  on. 
What  happened?" 

"Emma  fainted,"  said  Boulte,  simply.  "But, 
look  here,  what  had  you  been  saying  to  Mrs. 
Vansuythen  ?" 

Kurrell  laughed.  Mrs.  Boulte  had,  with  un- 
bridled tongue,  made  havoc  of  his  plans;  and 
he  could  at  least  retaliate  by  hurting  the  man 
in  whose  eyes  he  was  humiliated  and  shown 
dishonorable. 

"Said  to  her?  What  does  a  man  tell  a  lie  like 
that  for?  I  suppose  I  said  pretty  much  what 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY  69 

you've  said,  unless  I'm  a  good  deal  mistaken." 

"I  spoke  the  truth,"  said  Boulte,  again  more 
to  himself  than  Kurrell.  "Emma  told  me  she 
hated  me.  She  has  no  right  in  me." 

"No !  I  suppose  not.  You're  only  her  hus- 
band, y'know.  And  what  did  Mrs.  Vansuy- 
then  say  after  you  had  laid  your  disengaged 
heart  at  her  feet?" 

Kurrell  felt  almost  virtuous  as  he  put  the 
question. 

"I  don't  think  that  matters,"  Boulte  replied ; 
"and  it  doesn't  concern  you." 

"But  it  does!  I  tell  you  it  does"— began 
Kurrell,  shamelessly. 

The  sentence  was  cut  by  a  roar  of  laughter 
from  Boulte's  lips.  Kurrell  was  silent  for  an 
instant,  and  then  he,  too,  laughed — laughed 
long  and  loudly,  rocking  in  his  saddle.  It  was 
an  unpleasant  sound — the  mirthless  mirth  of 
these  men  on  the  long,  white  line  of  the  Nar- 
karra  Road.  There  were  no  strangers  in  Ka- 
shima,  or  they  might  have  thought  that  cap- 
tivity within  the  Dosehri  hills  had  driven  half 
the  European  population  mad.  The  laughter 
ended  abruptly,  and  Kurrell  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

Boulte  looked  up  the  road,  and  at  the  hills. 


70  A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 

"Nothing,"  said  he,  quietly;  "what's  the  use? 
It's  too  ghastly  for  anything.  We  must  let  the 
old  life  go  on.  I  can  only  call  you  a  hound  and 
a  liar,  and  I  can't  go  on  calling  you  names  for- 
ever. Besides  which,  I  don't  feel  that  I'm  much 
better.  We  can't  get  out  of  this  place.  What 
is  there  to  do" 

Kurrell  looked  round  the  rat-pit  of  Kashima 
and  made  no  reply.  The  injured  husband  took 
up  the  wondrous  tale. 

"Ride  on,  and  speak  to  Emma  if  you  want 
to.  God  knows  I  don't  care  what  you  do." 

He  walked  forward,  and  left  Kurrell  gazing 
blankly  after  him.  Kurrell  did  not  ride  on 
either  to  see  Mrs.  Boulte  or  Mrs.  Vansuythen. 
He  sat  in  his  saddle  and  thought,  while  his 
pony  grazed  by  the  roadside. 

The  whir  of  approaching  wheels  roused  him. 
Mrs.  Vansuythen  was  driving  home  Mrs. 
Boulte,  white  and  wan,  with  a  cut  on  her  fore- 
head. 

"Stop,  please,"  said  Mrs.  Boulte,  "I  want  to 
speak  to  Ted." 

Mrs.  Vansuythen  obeyed,  but  as  Mrs.  Boulte 
leaned  forward,  putting  her  hand  upon  the 
splash-board  of  the  dog-cart,  Kurrell  spoke. 

"I've  seen  your  husband,  Mrs.  Boulte." 

There  was  no  necessity  for  any  further  ex- 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY  71 

planation.  The  man's  eyes  were  fixed,  not 
upon  Mrs.  Boulte,  but  her  companion.  Mrs. 
Boulte  saw  the  look. 

"Speak  to  him!"  she  pleaded,  turning  to  the 
woman  at  her  side.  "Oh,  speak  to  him!  Tell 
him  what  you  told  me  just  now.  Tell  him  you 
hate  him.  Tell  him  you  hate  him !" 

She  bent  forward  and  wept  bitterly,  while 
the  sais,  impassive,  went  forward  to  hold  the 
horse.  Mrs.  Vansuythen  turned  scarlet  and 
dropped  the  reins.  She  wished  to  be  no  party 
to  such  unholy  explanations. 

"I've  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  she  began, 
coldly;  but  Mrs.  Boulte's  sobs  overcame  her, 
and  she  addressed  herself  to  the  man.  "I 
don't  know  what  I  am  to  say,  Captain  Kurrell. 
I  don't  know  what  I  can  call  you.  I  think 
you've — you've  behaved  abominably,  and  she 
has  cut  her  forehead  terribly  aaginst  the  table." 

"It  doesn't  hurt.  It  isn't  anything,"  said 
Mrs.  Boulte,  feebly.  "That  doesn't  matter. 
Tell  him  what  you  told  me.  Say  you  don't 
care  for  him.  Oh,  Ted,  won't  you  believe 
her?" 

"Mrs.  Boulte  has  made  me  understand  that 
you  were — that  you  were  fond  of  her  once 
upon  a  time,"  went  on  Mrs.  Vansuythen. 

"Well !"  said  Kurrell,  brutally.    "It  seems  to 


72  A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 

me  that  Mrs.  Boulte  had  better  be  fond  of  her 
own  husband  first." 

"Stop!"  said  Mrs.  Vansuythen.  "Hear  me 
first.  I  don't  care — I  don't  want  to  know  any- 
thing about  you  and  Mrs.  Boulte;  but  I  want 
you  to  know  that  I  hate  you,  that  I  think  you 
are  a  cur,  and  that  I'll  never,  never  speak  to 
you  again.  Oh,  I  don't  dare  to  say  what  I 
think  of  you,  you — man !" 

"I  want  to  speak  to  Ted,"  moaned  Mrs. 
Boulte,  but  the  dog-cart  rattled  on,  and  Kur- 
rell  was  left  on  the  road,  shamed,  and  boiling 
with  wrath  against  Mrs.  Boulte. 

He  waited  till  Mrs.  Vansuythen  was  driving 
back  to  her  own  house,  and,  she  being  freed 
from  the  embarrassment  of  Mrs.  Boulte's  pres- 
ence, learned  for  the  second  time  her  opinion 
of  himself  and  his  actions. 

In  the  evenings,  it  was  the  wont  of  all  Ka- 
shima  to  meet  at  the  platform  on  the  Narkarra 
Road,  to  drink  tea,  and  discuss  the  trivialities 
of  the  day.  Major  Vansuythen  and  his  wife 
found  themselves  alone  at  the  gathering-place 
for  almost  the  first  time  in  their  remembrance ; 
and  the  cheery  Major,  in  the  teeth  of  his  wife's 
remarkably  reasonable  suggestion  that  the  rest 
of  the  Station  might  be  sick,  insisted  upon 
driving  round  to  the  two  bungalows  and  un- 
earthing the  population. 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY  73 

"Sitting  in  the  twilight !"  said  he,  with  great 
indignation,  to  the  Boultes.  "That'll  never  do ! 
Hang  it  all,  we're  one  family  here !  You  must 
come  out,  and  so  must  Kurrell.  I'll  make  him 
bring  his  banjo." 

So  great  is  the  power  of  honest  simplicity 
and  a  good  digestion  over  guilty  consciences 
that  all  Kashima  did  turn  out,  even  down  to 
the  banjo;  and  the  Major  embraced  the  com- 
pany in  one  expansive  grin.  As  he  grinned, 
Mrs.  Vansuythen  raised  her  eyes  for  an  in- 
stant and  looked  at  all  Kashima.  Her  mean- 
ing was  clear.  Major  Vansuythen  would 
never  know  anything.  He  was  to  be  the  out- 
sider in  that  happy  family  whose  cage  was  the 
Dosehri  hills. 

"You're  singing  villainously  out  of  tune, 
Kurrell,"  said  the  Major,  truthfully.  "Pass 
me  that  banjo." 

And  he  sang    in    excruciating-wise  till  the 

stars  came  out  and  all  Kashima  went  to  dinner. 
****** 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  New  Life  of 
Kashima — the  life  that  Mrs.  Boulte  made 
when  her  tongue  was  loosened  in  the  twilight. 

Mrs.  Vansuythen  has  never  told  the  Major ; 
and  since  he  insists  upon  keeping  up  a  burden- 
some geniality,  she  has  been  compelled  to 


74  A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 

break  her  vow  of  not  speaking  to  Kurrell. 
This  speech,  which  must  of  necessity  preserve 
the  semblance  of  politeness  and  interest,  serves 
admirably  to  keep  alight  the  flame  of  jealousy 
and  dull  hatred  in  Boulte's  bosom,  as  it  awak- 
ens the  same  passions  in  his  wife's  heart.  Mrs. 
Boulte  hates  Mrs.  Vansuythen  because  she  has 
taken  Ted  from  her,  and,  in  some  curious  fash- 
ion, hates  her  because  Mrs.  Vansuythen — and 
here  the  wife's  eyes  see  far  more  clearly  than 
the  husband's — detests  Ted.  And  Ted — that 
gallant  captain  and  honorable  man — knows 
now  that  it  is  possible  to  hate  a  woman  once 
loved,  to  the  verge  of  wishing  to  silence  her 
forever  with  blows.  Above  all,  is  he  shocked 
that  Mrs.  Boulte  cannot  see  the  error  of  her 
ways. 

Boulte  and  he  go  out  tiger-shooting  together 
in  all  friendship.  Boulte  has  put  their  rela- 
tionship on  a  most  satisfactory  footing. 

"You're  a  blackguard,"  he  says  to  Kurrell, 
"and  I've  lost  any  self-respect  I  may  ever  have 
had ;  but  when  you're  with  me,  I  can  feel  cer- 
tain that  you  are  not  with  Mrs.  Vansuythen, 
or  making  Emma  miserable." 

Kurrell  endures  anything  that  Boulte  may 
say  to  him.  Sometimes  they  are  away  for  three 
days  together,  and  then  the  Major  insists  upon 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY  75 

his  wife  going  over  to  sit  with  Mrs.  Boulte; 
although  Mrs.  Vansuythen  has  repeatedly  de- 
clared that  she  prefers  her  husband's  company 
to  any  in  the  world.  From  the  way  in  which 
she  clings  to  him,  she  would  certainly  seem  to 
be  speaking  the  truth. 

But,  of  course,  as  the  Major  says,  "in  a  lit- 
tle Station  we  must  all  be  friendly." 


THE   HILL  OF   ILLUSION 


THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION. 


What  rendered  vain  their  deep  desire? 
A  God,  a  God  their  severance  ruled, 
And  bade  between  their  shores  to  be 
The  unplumbed,  salt,  estranging  sea. 

Matthew  Arnold. 


HE.  Tell  your  jhampanis  not  to  hurry  so, 
dear.  They  forget  I'm  fresh  from  the  Plains. 

SHE.  Sure  proof  that  /  have  not  been  go- 
ing  out  with  any  one.  Yes,  they  are  an  un- 
trained crew.  Where  do  we  go  ? 

HE.  As  usual — to  the  world's  end.  No, 
Jakko. 

SHE.  Have  your  pony  led  after  you,  then. 
It's  a  long  round. 

HE.    And  for  the  last  time,  thank  Heaven. 

SHE.  Do  you  mean  that  still  ?  I  didn't  dare 
to  write  to  you  about  it — all  these  months. 

HE.  Mean  it !  I've  been  shaping  my  affairs 
to  that  end  since  Autumn.  What  makes  you 
speak  as  though  it  had  occurred  to  you  for  the 
first  time  ? 

SHE.  I !  Oh !  I  don't  know.  I've  had  long 
enough  to  think,  too. 

79 


80  THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 

HE.    And  you've  changed  your  mind  ? 

SHE.  No.  You  ought  to  know  that  I  am  a 
miracle  of  constancy.  What  are  your — ar- 
rangements ? 

HE.    Ours,  Sweetheart,  please. 

SHE.  Ours,  be  it  then.  My  poor  boy,  how 
the  prickly  heat  has  marked  your  forehead! 
Have  you  ever  tried  sulphate  of  copper  in 
water? 

HE.  It'll  go  away  in  a  day  or  two  up  here. 
The  arrangements  are  simple  enough.  Tonga 
in  the  early  morning — reach  Kalka  at  twelve 
— Umballa  at  seven — down,  straight  by  night 
train,  to  Bombay,  and  the  steamer  of  the  2ist 
for  Rome.  That's  my  idea.  The  Continent 
and  Sweden — a  ten-week  honeymoon. 

SHE.  Ssh !  Don't  talk  of  it  in  that  way.  It 
makes  me  afraid.  Guy,  how  long  have  we  two 
been  insane? 

HE.  Seven  months  and  fourteen  days,  I  for- 
get the  odd  hours  exactly,  but  I'll  think. 

SHE.  I  only  wanted  to  see  if  you  remem- 
bered. Who  are  those  two  on  the  Blessington 
Road? 

HE.  Eabrey  and  the  Penner  woman.  What 
do  they  matter  to  us?  Tell  me  everything  that 
you've  been  doing  and  saying  and  thinking. 

SHE.  Doing  little,  saying  less,  and  thinking 
a  great  deal.  I've  hardly  been  out  at  all. 


8i 


HE.  That  was  wrong  of  you.  You  haven't 
been  moping? 

SHE.  Not  very  much.  Can  you  wonder  that 
I'm  disinclined  for  amusement? 

HE.  Frankly,  I  do.  Where  was  the  diffi- 
culty ? 

SHE.  In  this  only.  The  more  people  I  know 
and  the  more  I'm  known  here,  the  wider  spread 
will  be  the  news  of  the  crash  when  it  comes.  I 
don't  like  that. 

HE.    Nonsense.    We  shall  be  out  of  it. 

SHE.    You  think  so? 

HE.  I'm  sure  of  it,  if  there  is  any  power  in 
steam  or  horse-flesh  to  carry  us  away.  Ha !  ha ! 

SHE.  And  the  fun  of  the  situation  comes  in 
— where,  my  Lancelot? 

HE.  Nowhere,  Guinevere.  I  was  only  think- 
ing of  something. 

SHE.  They  say  men  have  a  keener  sense  of 
humor  than  women.  Now  7  was  thinking  of 
the  scandal. 

HE.  Don't  think  of  anything  so  ugly.  We 
shall  be  beyond  it. 

SHE.  It  will  be  there  all  the  same— in  the 
mouths  of  Simla — telegraphed  over  India,  and 
talked  of  at  the  dinners — and  when  He  goes 
out  they  will  stare  at  Him  to  see  how  He  takes 
it.  And  we  shall  be  dead,  Guy  dear — dead  and 
cast  into  the  outer  darkness  where  there  is — 


82  THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 

HE.    Love  at  least.     Isn't  that  enough? 

SHE.    I  have  said  so. 

HE.    And  you  think  so  still? 

SHE.     What  do  you  think? 

HE.  What  have  I  done?  It  means  equal 
ruin  to  me,  as  the  world  reckons  it — outcast- 
ing,  the  loss  of  my  appointment,  the  breaking 
off  my  life's  work.  I  pay  my  price. 

SHE.  And  are  you  so  much  above  the  world 
that  you  can  afford  to  pay  it  ?  Am  I  ? 

HE.     My  Divinity — what  else? 

SHE.  A  very  ordinary  woman  I'm  afraid, 
but,  so  far,  respectable.  How'd  you  do,  Mrs. 
Middleditch?  Your  husband?  I  think  he's 
riding  down  to  Annandale  with  Colonel  Stat- 
ters.  Yes,  isn't  it  divine  after  the  rain  ? — Guy, 
how  long  am  I  to  be  allowed  to  bow  to  Mrs. 
Middleditch?  Till  the  i;th? 

HE.  Frowsy  Scotchwoman!  What  is  the 
use  of  bringing  her  into  the  discussion?  You 
were  saying? 

SHE.  Nothing.  Have  you  ever  seen  a  man 
hanged  ? 

HE.    Yes.    Once. 

SHE.    What  was  it  for? 

HE.    Murder,  of  course. 

SHE.  Murder.  Is  that  so  great  a  sin  after 
all  ?  I  wonder  how  he  felt  before  the  drop  fell. 


THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION  83 

HE.  I  don't  think  he  felt  much.  What  a 
gruesome  little  woman  it  is  this  evening. 
You're  shivering.  Put  on  your  cape,  dear. 

SHE.  I  think  I  will.  Oh !  Look  at  the  mist 
coming  over  Sanjaoli;  and  I  thought  we 
should  have  sunshine  on  the  Ladies'  Mile! 
Let's  turn  back. 

HE.  What's  the  good  ?  There's  a  cloud  on 
Elysium  Hill,  and  that  means  it's  foggy  all 
down  the  Mall.  We'll  go  on.  It'll  blow  away 
before  we  get  to  the  Convent,  perhaps.  'Jove! 
It  is  chilly. 

SHE.  You  feel  it,  fresh  from  below.  Put 
on  your  ulster.  What  do  you  think  of  my 
cape? 

HE.  Never  ask  a  man  his  opinion  of  a 
woman's  dress  when  he  is  desperately  and  ab- 
jectly in  love  with  the  wearer.  Let  me  look. 
Like  everything  else  of  yours,  it's  perfect. 
Where  did  you  get  it  from? 

SHE.  He  gave  it  me,  on  Wednesday — our 
wedding-day,  you  know. 

HE.  The  Deuce  he  did !  He's  growing  gen- 
erous in  his  old  age.  D'you  like  all  that  frilly, 
bunchy  stuff  at  the  throat?  I  don't. 

SHE.    Don't  you? 

Kind  Sir,  o'  your  courtesy, 
As  you  go  by  the  town,  Sir, 


84  THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 

'Pray  you  o"  your  love  for  me, 
Buy  me  a  russet  gown,  Sir. 

HE.  I  won't  say :  "Keek  into  the  draw-well, 
Janet,  Janet."  Only  wait  a  little,  darling,  and 
you  shall  be  stocked  with  russet  gowns  and 
everything  else. 

SHE.  And  when  the  frocks  wear  out,  you'll 
get  me  new  ones — and  everything  else? 

HE.     Assuredly. 

SHE.    I  wonder! 

HE.  Look  here,  Sweetheart,  I  didn't  spend 
two  days  and  two  nights  in  the  train  to  hear 
you  wonder.  I  thought  we'd  settled  all  that  at 
Shaifazehat. 

SHE.  (dreamily.)  At  Shaifazehat?  Does 
the  Station  go  on  still?  That  was  ages  and 
ages  ago.  It  must  be  crumbling  to  pieces.  All 
except  the  Amirtollah  kutcha  road.  I  don't 
believe  that  could  crumble  till  the  Day  of  Judg- 
ment. 

HE.    You  think  so  ?  What  is  the  mood  now  ? 

SHE.  I  can't  tell.  How  cold  it  is!  Let  us 
get  on  quickly. 

HE.  Better  walk  a  little.  Stop  your  jham- 
panis  and  get  out.  What's  the  matter  with 
you  this  evening,  dear? 

SHE.  Nothing.  You  must  grow  accustomed 
to  my  ways.  If  I'm  boring  you  I  can  go  home. 


THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION  85 

Here's  Captain  Congleton  coming,  I  dare  say 
he'll  be  willing  to  escort  me. 

HE.  Goose!  Between  us,  too!  Damn  Cap- 
tain Congleton! 

SHE.  Chivalrous  Knight.  Is  it  your  habit 
to  swear  much  in  talking  ?  It  jars  a  little,  and 
you  might  swear  at  me. 

HE.  My  angel!  I  didn't  know  what  I  was 
saying;  and  you  changed  so  quickly  that  I 
couldn't  follow.  I'll  apologize  in  dust  and 
ashes. 

SHE.  There'll  be  enough  of  those  later  on — 
Good-night,  Captain  Congleton.  Going  to  the 
singing-quadrilles  already?  What  dances  am  I 
giving  you  next  week?  No!  You  must  have 
written  them  down  wrong.  Five  and  Seven,  / 
said.  If  you've  made  a  mistake,  I  certainly 
don't  intend  to  suffer  for  it.  You  must  alter 
your  programme. 

HE.  I  thought  you  told  me  that  you  had 
not  been  going  out  much  this  season. 

SHE.  Quite  true,  but  when  I  do  I  dance 
with  Captain  Congleton.  He  dances  very 
nicely. 

HE.    And  sit  out  with  him,  I  suppose? 

SHE.  Yes.  Have  you  any  objection?  Shall 
I  stand  under  the  chandelier  in  future? 

HE.     What  does  he  talk  to  you  about? 

SHE.  What  do  men  talk  about  when  they 
sit  out?  -^ 


*6          THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 

HE.  Ugh!  Don't!  Well  now  I'm  up,  you 
must  dispense  with  the  fascinating  Congleton 
for  a  while.  I  don't  like  him. 

SHE  (after  a  pause}.  Do  you  know  what 
you  have  said  ? 

HE.  'Can't  say  that  I  do  exactly.  I'm  not 
in  the  best  of  tempers. 

SHE.  So  I  see, — and  feel.  My  true  and 
faithful  lover,  where  is  your  "eternal  con- 
stancy," "unalterable  trust,"  and  "reverent 
devotion"?  I  remember  those  phrases;  you 
seem  to  have  forgotten  them.  I  mention  a 
man's  name — 

HE.     A  good  deal  more  than  that. 

SHE.  Well,  speak  to  him  about  a  dance — 
perhaps  the  last  dance  that  I  shall  ever  dance 
in  my  life  before  I, — before  I  go  away;  and 
you  at  once  distrust  and  insult  me. 

HE.     I  never  said  a  word. 

SHE.  How  much  did  you  imply.  Guy,  is 
this  amount  of  confidence  to  be  our  stock  to 
start  the  new  life  on? 

HE.  No,  of  course  not.  I  didn't  mean  that. 
On  my  word  and  honor,  I  didn't.  Let  it  pass, 
dear.  Please  let  it  pass. 

SHE.  This  once — yes — and  a  second  time, 
and  again  and  again,  all  through  the  years 
when  I  shall  be  unable  to  resent  it.  You  want 


THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION  87 

too  much,  my  Lancelot,  and, — you  know  too 
much. 

HE.    How  do  you  mean? 

SHE.  That  is  a  part  of  the  punishment. 
There  cannot  be  perfect  trust  between  us. 

HE.    In  Heaven's  name,  why  not? 

SHE.  Hush!  The  Other  Place  is  quite 
enough.  Ask  yourself. 

HE.    I  don't  follow. 

SHE.  You  trust  me  so  implicitly  that  when 
I  look  at  another  man —  Never  mind,  Guy. 
Have  you  ever  made  love  to  a  girl — a  good 
girl?  ' 

HE.  Something  of  the  sort.  Centuries  ago 
— in  the  Dark  Ages,  before  I  ever  met  you, 
dear. 

SHE.    Tell  me  what  you  said  to  her. 

HE.  What  does  a  man  say  to  a  girl?  I've 
forgotten. 

SHE.  I  remember.  He  tells  her  that  he 
trusts  her  and  worships  the  ground  she  walks 
on,  and  that  he'll  love  and  honor  and  protect 
her  till  her  dying  day ;  and  so  she  marries  him 
in  that  belief.  At  least,  I  speak  of  one  girl 
who  was  not  protected. 

HE.    Well,  and  then? 

SHE.  And  then,  Guy,  and  then,  that  girl 
needs  ten  times  the  love  and  trust  and  honor — 


88          THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 

yes,  honor — that  was  enough  when  she  was 
only  a  mere  wife  if — if — the  other  life  she 
chooses  to  lead  is  to  be  made  even  bearable. 
Do  you  understand? 

HE.    Even  bearable !    It'll  be  Paradise. 

SHE.  Ah!  Can  you  give  me  all  I've  asked 
for — not  now,  nor  a  few  months  later,  but 
when  you  begin  to  think  of  what  you  might 
have  done  if  you  had  kept  your  own  appoint- 
ment and  your  caste  here — when  you^  begin  to 
look  upon  me  as  a  drag  and  a  burden  ?  I  shall 
want  it  most,  then,  Guy,  for  there  will  be  no 
one  in  the  wide  world  but  you. 

HE.  You're  a  little  over-tired  to-night, 
Sweetheart,  and  you're  taking  a  stage  view  of 
the  situation.  After  the  necessary  business  in 
the  Courts,  the  road  is  clear  to — 

SHE.  "The  holy  state  of  matrimony!"  Ha! 
ha!  ha! 

HE.    Ssh !  Don't  laugh  in  that  horrible  way. 

SHE.  I — I  c-c-c-can't  help  it!  Isn't  it  too 
absurd !  Ah !  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Guy,  stop  me  quick 
or  I  shall — 1-1-laugh  till  we  get  to  the  Church. 

HE.  For  goodness'  sake,  stop !  Don't  make 
an  exhibition  of  yourself.  What  is  the  matter 
with  you? 

SHE.    N-nothing.    I'm  better  now. 

HE.     That's  all  right.    One  moment,  dear. 


THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION  89 

There's  a  little  wisp  of  hair  got  loose  from 
behind  your  right  ear  and  it's  straggling  over 
your  cheek.  So! 

SHE.  Thank'oo.  I'm  'fraid  my  hat's  on  one 
side,  too. 

HE.  What  do  you  wear  these  huge  dagger 
bonnet-skewers  for?  They're  big  enough  to 
kill  a  man  with. 

SHE.  Oh!  Don't  kill  me,  though.  You're 
sticking  it  into  my  head.  Let  me  do  it.  You 
men  are  so  clumsy. 

HE.  Have  you  had  many  opportunities  of 
comparing  us — in  this  sort  of  work? 

SHE.    Guy,  what  is  my  name? 

HE.    Eh!  I  don't  follow. 

SHE.    Here's  my  cardcase.    Can  you  read? 

HE.    Yes.    Well? 

SHE.  Well,  that  answers  your  question. 
You  know  the  other  man's  name.  Am  I  suffi- 
ciently humbled,  or  would  you  like  to  ask  me 
if  there  is  any  one  else? 

HE.  I  see  now.  My  darling,  I  never  meant 
that  for  an  instant.  I  was  only  joking.  There ! 
Lucky  there's  no  one  on  the  road.  They'd  be 
scandalized. 

SHE.  They'll  be  more  scandalized  before 
the  end. 

HE.  Do-on't !  I  don't  like  you  to  talk  in  that 
way. 


90          THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 

SHE.  Unreasonable  man!  Who  asked  me 
to  face  the  situation  and  accept  it? — Tell  me, 
do  I  look  like  Mrs.  Penner?  Do  I  look  like  a 
naughty  woman?  Swear  I  don't!  Give  me 
your  word  of  honor,  my  honorable  friend,  that 
I'm  not  like  Mrs.  Buzgago.  That's  the  way 
she  stands,  with  her  hands  clasped  at  the  back 
of  her  head.  D'you  like  that? 

HE.    Don't  be  affected. 

SHE.    I'm  not.    I'm  Mrs.  Buzgago.  Listen! 

Pendant  une  anne'  toute  entiere 
Le  regiment  n'a  pas  r'paru. 
Au  Ministere  de  la  Guerre 
On  le  r'porta  comme  perdu. 

On  se  r'noncait  a  r'trouver  sa  trace, 
Quand  un  matin  subitement, 
On  le  vit  r'paraitre  sur  la  place, 
L'Colonel  tou jours  en  avant. 

That's  the  way  she  rolls  her  r's.  Am  I  like 
her? 

HE.  No,  but  I  object  when  you  go  on  like 
an  actress  and  sing  stuff  of  that  kind.  Where 
in  the  world  did  you  pick  up  the  Chanson  du 
Colonel?  It  isn't  a  drawing-room  song.  It 
isn't  proper. 

SHE.  Mrs.  Buzgago  taught  it  me.  She  is 
both  drawing-room  and  proper,  and  in  another 
month  she'll  shut  her  drawing-room  to  me, 


THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION  91 

and  thank  God  she  isn't  as  improper  as  I  am. 
Oh,  Guy,  Guy !  I  wish  I  was  like  some  women 
and  had  no  scruples  about — what  is  it  Keene 
says? — "Wearing  a  corpse's  hair  and  being 
false  to  the  bread  they  eat." 

HE.  I  am  only  a  man  of  limited  intelligence, 
and,  just  now,  very  bewildered.  When  you 
have  quite  finished  flashing  through  all  your 
moods  tell  me,  and  I'll  try  to  understand  the 
last  one. 

SHE.  Moods,  Guy !  I  haven't  any.  I'm  six- 
teen years  old,  and  you're  just  twenty,  and 
you've  been  waiting  for  two  hours  outside  the 
school  in  the  cold.  And  now  I've  met  you,  and 
now  we're  walking  home  together.  Does  that 
suit  you,  my  Imperial  Majesty? 

HE.  No.  We  aren't  children.  Why  can't 
you  be  rational? 

SHE.  He  asks  me  that  when  -I'm  going  to 
commit  suicide  for  his  sake,  and,  and — I  don't 
want  to  be  French  and  rave  about  my  mother, 
but  have  I  ever  told  you  that  I  have  a  mother, 
and  a  brother  who  was  my  pet  before  I  mar- 
ried? He's  married  now.  Can't  you  imagine 
the  pleasure  that  the  news  of  the  elopement  will 
give  him?  Have  you  any  people  at  Home, 
Guy,  to  be  pleased  with  your  performances? 

HE.    One  or  two.    One  can't  make  omelets 


92  THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 

without  breaking  eggs. 

SHE    (slowly).    I  don't  see  the  necessity — 

HE.    Hah !  What  do  you  mean  ? 

SHE.     Shall  I  speak  the  truth? 

HE.  Under  the  circumstances,  perhaps  it 
would  be  as  well. 

SHE.    Guy,  I'm  afraid. 

HE.  I  thought  we'd  settled  all  that.  What 
of? 

SHE.    Of  you. 

HE.  Oh,  damn  it  all!  The  old  business! 
This  is  too  bad ! 

SHE.     Of  you. 

HE.  And  what  now? 

SHE.    What  do  you  think  of  me. 

HE.  Beside  the  question  altogether.  What 
do  you  intend  to  do? 

SHE.  I  daren't  risk  it.  I'm  afraid.  If  I 
could  only  cheat — 

HE.  A  la  Buzgago?  No,  thanks.  That's 
the  one  point  on  which  I  have  any  notion  of 
Honor.  I  won't  eat  his  salt  and  steal  too.  I'll 
loot  openly  or  not  at  all. 

SHE.    I  never  meant  anything  else. 

HE.  Then,  why  in  the  world  do  you  pre- 
tend not  to  be  willing  to  come? 

SHE.     It's  not  pretence,  Guy.     I  am  afraid 

HE.    Please  explain. 


THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION  93 

SHE.  It  can't  last,  Guy.  It  can't  last.  You'll 
get  angry,  and  then  you'll  swear,  and  then 
you'll  get  jealous,  and  then  you'll  mistrust  me 
— you  do  now — and  you  yourself  will  be  the 
best  reason  for  doubting.  And  I — what  shall 
/  do  ?  I  shall  be  no  better  than  Mrs.  Buzgago 
found  out — no  better  than  any  one.  And 
you'll  knoiv  that.  Oh,  Guy,  can't  you  see? 

HE.  I  can  see  that  you  are  desperately  un- 
reasonable, little  woman. 

SHE.  There!  The  moment  I  begin  to  ob- 
ject, you  get  angry.  What  will  you  do  when 
I  am  only  your  property — stolen  property?  It 
can't  be,  Guy.  It  can't  be !  I  thought  it  could, 
but  it  can't.  You'll  get  tired  of  me. 

HE.  I  tell  you  I  shall  not.  Won't  anything 
make  you  understand  that? 

SHE.  There,  can't  you  see?  If  you  speak 
to  me  like  that  now,  you'll  call  me  horrible 
names  later,  if  I  don't  do  everything  as  you 
like.  And  if  you  were  cruel  to  me,  Guy,  where 
should  I  go — where  should  I  go  ?  I  can't  trust 
you.  Oh !  I  can't  trust  you ! 

HE.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  say  that  I  can 
trust  you.  I've  ample  reason. 

SHE.  Please  don't,  dear.  It  hurts  as  much 
as  if  you  hit  me. 

HE.     It  isn't  exactly  pleasant  for  me. 


94          THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 

SHE.  I  can't  help  it.  I  wish  I  were  dead! 
I  can't  trust  you,  and  I  don't  trust  myself.  Oh, 
Guy,  let  it  die  away  and  be  forgotten  I 

HE.  Too  late  now.  I  don't  understand  you 
— I  won't — and  I  can't  trust  myself  to  talk  this 
evening.  May  I  call  to-morrow? 

SHE.  Yes.  No!  Oh,  give  me  time !  The 
day  after.  I  get  into  my  'rickshaw  here  and 
meet  Him  at  Peliti's.  You  ride. 

HE.  I'll  go  on  to  Peliti's  too.  I  think  I  want 
a  drink.  My  world's  knocked  about  my  ears 
and  the  stars  are  falling.  Who  are  those  brutes 
howling  in  the  Old  Library? 

SHE.  They're  rehearsing  the  singing-qua- 
drilles for  the  Fancy  Ball.  Can't  you  hear 
Mrs.  Buzgago's  voice?  She  has  a  solo.  It's 
quite  a  new  idea.  Listen. 

MRS.  BUZGAGO.  (In  the  Old  Library,  con 
molt.  exp.). 

See  saw!  Margery  Daw! 

Sold  her  bed  to  lie  upon  straw. 

Wasn't  she  a  silly  slut 

To  sell  her  bed  and  lie  upon  dirt  ? 

Captain  Congleton,  I'm  going  to  alter  that 
to  "flirt."  It  sounds  better. 

HE.  No,  I've  changed  my  mind  about  the 
drink.  Good-night,  little  lady.  I  shall  see  you 
to-morrow  ? 


THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION  95 

SHE.  Ye— es.  Good-night,  Guy.  Don't  be 
angry  with  me. 

HE.  Angry !  You  know  I  trust  you  abso- 
lutely. Good-night  and — God  bless  you! 

(Three  seconds  later.  Alone.)  Hmm!  I'd 
give  something  to  discover  whether  there's  an- 
other man  at  the  back  of  all  this. 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

Est  fuga,  volvitur  rota, 

On  we  drift;  where  looms  the  dim  port? 
One  Two  Three  Four  Five  contribute  their  quota: 

Something  is  gained  if  one  caught  but  the  import, 
Show  it  us,  Hugues  of  Saxe-Gotha. 

— Master  Hugues  of  Saxe-Gotha. 

DRESSED!  Don't  tell  me  that  woman 
ever  dressed  in  her  life.  She  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  room  while  her  ayah — no, 
her  husband — it  must  have  been  a  man — threw 
her  clothes  at  her.  She  then  did  her  hair  with 
her  fingers,  and  rubbed  her  bonnet  in  the  flue 
under  the  bed.  I  know  she  did,  as  well  as  if  I 
had  assisted  at  the  orgie.  Who  is  she?"  said 
Mrs.  Hauksbee. 

"Don't !"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  feebly.  "You 
make  my  head  ache.  I'm  miserable  to-day. 
Stay  me  with  fondants,  comfort  me  with  choc- 
olates, for  I  am —  Did  you  bring  anything 
from  Peliti's?" 

"Questions  to  begin  with.  You  shall  have 
the  sweets  when  you  have  answered  them. 
Who  and  what  is  the  creature  ?  There  were  at 
least  half  a  dozen  men  round  her,  and  she  ap- 
peared to  be  going  to  sleep  in  their  midst." 

"Delville,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  "'Shady' 
Delville,  to  distinguish  her  from  Mrs.  Jim  of 
99 


100        A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

that  ilk.  She  dances  as  untidily  as  she  dresses, 
I  believe,  and  her  husband  is  somewhere  in 
Madras.  Go  and  call,  if  you  are  so  interested." 

"What  have  I  to  do  with  Shigramitish 
women?  She  merely  caught  my  attention  for 
a  minute,  and  I  wondered  at  the  attraction 
that  a  dowd  has  for  a  certain  type  of  man.  I 
expected  to  see  her  walk  out  of  her  clothes — 
until  I  looked  at  her  eyes." 

"Hooks  and  eyes,  surely,"  drawled  Mrs. 
Mallowe, 

"Don't  be  clever,  Polly.  You  make  my  head 
ache.  And  round  this  hayrick  stood  a  crowd 
of  men — a  positive  crowd!" 

"Perhaps  they  also  expected" — 

"Polly,  don't  be  Rabelaisian!" 

Mrs.  Mallowe  curled  herself  up  comfortably 
on  the  sofa,  and  turned  her  attention  to  the 
sweets.  She  and  Mrs.  Hauksbee  shared  the 
same  house  at  Simla;  and  these  things  befell 
two  seasons  after  the  matter  of  Otis  Yeere, 
which  has  been  already  recorded. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  stepped  into  the  veranda  and 
looked  down  upon  the  Mall,  her  forehead 
puckered  with  thought. 

"Hah!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  shortly.  "In- 
deed!" 

"What  is  it  ?"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  sleepily. 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        IOI 

"That  dowd  and  The  Dancing  Master — to 
whom  I  object." 

"Why  to  The  Dancing  Master?  He  is  a 
middle-aged  gentleman,  of  reprobate  and  ro- 
mantic tendencies,  and  tries  to  be  a  friend  of 
mine." 

"Then  make  up  your  mind  to  lose  him. 
Dowds  cling  by  nature,  and  I  should  imagine 
that  this  animal — how  terrible  her  bonnet 
looks  from  above! — is  specially  clingsome." 

"She  is  welcome  to  The  Dancing  Master  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned.  I  never  could  take  an 
interest  in  a  monotonous  liar.  The  frustrated 
aim  of  his  life  is  to  persuade  people  that  he  is 
a  bachelor." 

"O-oh!  I  think  I've  met  that  sort  of  man 
before.  And  isn't  he?" 

"No.  He  confided  that  to  me  a  few  days 
ag°-  Ugh!  Some  men  ought  to  be  killed." 

"What  happened  then?" 

"He  posed  as  the  horror  of  horrors — a  mis- 
understood man.  Heaven  knows  the  femme 
incomprise  is  sad  enough  and  bad  enough — 
but  the  other  thing!" 

"And  so  fat  too!  7  should  have  laughed  in 
his  face.  Men  seldom  confide  in  me.  How  is 
it  they  come  to  you?" 

"For  the  sake  of  impressing  me  with  their 


102       A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

careers  in  the  past.  Protect  me  from  men 
with  confidences!" 

"And  yet  you  encourage  them!" 

"What  can  I  do?  They  talk,  I  listen,  and 
they  vow  that  I  am  sympathetic.  I  know  I  al- 
ways profess  astonishment  even  when  the  plot 
is — of  the  most  old  possible." 

"Yes.  Men  are  so  unblushingly  explicit  if 
they  are  once  allowed  to  talk,  whereas 
women's  confidences  are  full  of  reservations 
and  fibs,  except" — 

"When  they  go  mad  and  babble  of  the  Un- 
utterabilities  after  a  week's  acquaintance. 
Really,  if  you  come  to  consider,  we  know  a 
great  deal  more  of  men  than  of  our  own  sex." 

"And  the  extraordinary  thing  is  that  men 
will  never  believe  it.  They  say  we  are  trying 
to  hide  something." 

"They  are  generally  doing  that  on  their  own 
account.  Alas!  These  chocolates  pall  upon 
me,  and  I  haven't  eaten  more  than  a  dozen. 
I  think  I  shall  go  to  sleep." 

"Then  you'll  get  fat,  dear.  If  you  took 
more  exercise  and  a  more  intelligent  interest 
in  your  neighbors  you  would" — 

"Be  as  much  loved  as  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 
You're  a  darling  in  many  ways  and  I  like  you 
-—you  are  not  a  woman's  woman — but  why  do 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        103 

you  trouble  yourself  about  mere  human 
beings  ?" 

"Because  in  the  absence  of  angels,  who  I  am 
sure  would  be  horribly  dull,  men  and  women 
are  the  most  fascinating  things  in  the  whole 
wide  world,  lazy  one.  I  am  interested  in  The 
Dowd — I  am  interested  in  The  Dancing  Mas- 
ter— I  am  interested  in  the  Hawley  Boy — and 
I  am  interested  in  you." 

"Why  couple  me  with  the  Hawley  Boy  ?  He 
is  your  property." 

"Yes,  and  in  his  own  guileless  speech,  I'm 
making  a  good  thing  out  of  him.  When  he  is 
slightly  more  reformed,  and  has  passed  his 
Higher  Standard,  or  whatever  the  authorities 
think  fit  to  exact  from  him,  I  shall  select  a 
pretty  little  girl,  the  Holt  girl,  I  think,  and" — 
here  she  waved  her  hands  airily — "  'whom 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  hath  joined  together  let  no 
man  put  asunder.'  That's  all." 

"And  when  you  have  yoked  May  Holt  with 
the  most  notorious  detrimental  in  Simla,  and 
earned  the  undying  hatred  of  Mamma  Holt, 
what  will  you  do  with  me,  Dispenser  of  the 
Destinies  of  the  Universe?" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  dropped  into  a  low  chair  in 
front  of  the  fire,  and,  chin  in  hand,  gazed  long 
and  steadfastly  at  Mrs.  Mallowe. 


104        A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  shaking  her 
head,  "what  I  shall  do  with  you,  dear.  It's 
obviously  impossible  to  marry  you  to  some  one 
else — your  husband  would  object  and  the  ex- 
periment might  not  be  successful  after  all.  I 
think  I  shall  begin  by  preventing  you  from — 
what  is  it? — 'sleeping  on  ale-house  benches 
and  snoring  in  the  sun.' ' 

"Don't !  I  don't  like  your  quotations.  They 
are  so  rude.  Go  to  the  Library  and  bring  me 
new  books." 

"While  you  sleep?  No!  If  you  don't  come 
with  me,  I  shall  spread  your  newest  frock  on 
my  'rickshaw-bow,  and  when  any  one  asks  me 
what  I  am  doing,  I  shall  say  that  I  am  going 
to  Phelps's  to  get  it  let  out.  I  shall  take  care 
that  Mrs.  McNamara  sees  me.  Put  your 
things  on,  there's  a  good  girl." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  groaned  and  obeyed,  and  the 
two  went  off  to  the  Library,  where  they  found 
Mrs.  Delville  and  the  man  who  went  by  the 
nickname  of  The  Dancing  Master.  By  that 
time  Mrs.  Mallowe  was  awake  and  eloquent. 

"That  is  the  Creature!"  said  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee,  with  the  air  of  one  pointing  out  a  slug  in 
the  road. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe.  "The  man  is 
the  Creature.  Ugh !  Good-evening,  Mr.  Bent. 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        105 

I  thought  you  were  coming  to  tea  this  even- 
ing." 

"Surely  it  was  for  to-morrow,  was  it  not?" 
answered  The  Dancing  Master.  "I  under- 
stood ...  I  fancied  .  .  .  I'm  so 
sorry  .  .  .  How  very  unfortunate !"  .  .  . 

But  Mrs.  Mallowe  had  passed  on. 

"For  the  practiced  equivocator  you  said  he 
was,"  murmured  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  "he  strikes 
me  as  a  failure.  Now  wherefore  should  he 
have  preferred  a  walk  with  The  Dowd  to  tea 
with  us?  Elective  affinities,  I  suppose — both 
grubby.  Polly,  I'd  never  forgive  that  woman 
as  long  as  the  world  rolls." 

"I  forgive  every  woman  everything,"  said 
Mrs.  Mallowe.  "He  will  be  sufficient  punish- 
ment for  her.  What  a  common  voice  she 
has!" 

Mrs.  Delville's  voice  was  not  pretty,  her  car- 
riage was  even  less  lovely,  and  her  raiment 
was  strikingly  neglected.  All  these  things 
Mrs.  Mallowe  noticed  over  the  top  of  a  maga- 
zine. 

"Now  what  is  there  in  her?"  said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee.  "Do  you  see  what  I  meant  about 
the  clothes  falling  off?  If  I  were  a  man  I 
would  perish  sooner  than  be  seen  with  that 


106        A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 
i 

rag-bag.  And  yet,  she  has  good  eyes,  but — 
Oh!" 

"What  is  it?" 

"She  doesn't  know  how  to  use  them!  On 
my  Honor,  she  does  not.  Look!  Oh,  look! 
Untidiness  I  can  endure,  but  ignorance  never! 
The  woman's  a  fool." 

"Hsh!    She'll  hear  you." 

"All  the  women  in  Simla  are  fools.  She'll 
think  I  mean  some  one  else.  Now  she's  going 
out.  What  a  thoroughly  objectionable  couple 
she  and  The  Dancing  Master  make!  Which 
reminds  me.  Do  you  suppose  they'll  ever 
dance  together?" 

"Wait  and  see.  I  don't  envy  her  the  con- 
versation of  The  Dancing  Master — loathly 
man!  His  wife  ought  to  be  up  here  before 
long." 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  him?" 

"Only  what  he  told  me.  It  may  be  all  a  fic- 
tion. He  married  a  girl  bred  in  the  country, 
I  think,  and,  being  an  honorable,  chivalrous 
soul,  told  me  that  he  repented  his  bargain  and 
sent  her  to  her  mother  as  often  as  possible — 
a  person  who  has  lived  in  the  Doon  since  the 
memory  of  man  and  goes  to  Mussoorie  when 
other  people  go  Home.  The  wife  is  with  her 
at  present.  So  he  says." 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        107 

"Babies?" 

"One  only,  but  he  talks  of  his  wife  in  a  re- 
volting way.  I  hated  him  for  it.  He  thought 
he  was  being  epigrammatic  and  brilliant." 

"That  is  a  vice  peculiar  to  men.  I  dislike 
him  because  he  is  generally  in  the  wake  of 
some  girl,  disappointing  the  Eligibles.  He 
will  persecute  May  Holt  no  more,  unless  I  am 
much  mistaken." 

"No.  I  think  Mrs.  Delville  may  occupy  his 
attention  for  a  while." 

"Do  you  suppose  she  knows  that  he  is  the 
head  of  a  family?" 

"Not  from  his  lips.  He  swore  me  to  eter- 
nal secrecy.  Wherefore  I  tell  you.  Don't  you 
know  that  type  of  man?" 

"Not  intimately,  thank  goodness!  .As  a 
general  rule,  when  a  man  begins  to  abuse  his 
wife  to  me,  I  find  that  the  Lord  gives  me 
wherewith  to  answer  him  according  to  his 
folly ;  and  we  part  with  a  coolness  between  us. 
I  laugh." 

"I'm  different.    I've  no  sense  of  humor." 

"Cultivate  it,  then.  It  has  been  my  main- 
stay for  more  years  than  I  care  to  think  about. 
A  well-educated  sense  of  Humor  will  save  a 
woman  when  Religion,  Training,  and  Home 
influences  fail;  and  we  may  all  need  salvation 
sometimes." 


io8       A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

"Do  you  suppose  that  the  Delville  woman 
has  humor?" 

"Her  dress  bewrays  her.  How  can  a  Thing 
who  wears  her  supplement  under  her  left  arm 
have  any  notion  of  the  fitness  of  things — much 
less  their  folly?  If  she  discards  The  Dancing 
Master  after  having  once  seen  him  dance,  I 
may  respect  her.  Otherwise" — 

"But  are  we  not  both  assuming  a  great  deal 
too  much,  dear?  You  saw  the  woman  at  Pe- 
liti's — half  an  hour  later  you  saw  her  walking 
with  The  Dancing  Master — an  hour  later  you 
met  her  here  at  the  Library." 

"Still  with  The  Dancing  Master,  remem- 
ber." 

"Still  with  The  Dancing  Master,  I  admit, 
but  why  on  the  strength  of  that  should  you 
imagine" — 

"I  imagine  nothing.  I  have  no  imagination. 
I  am  only  convinced  that  The  Dancing  Master 
is  attracted  to  The  Dowd  because  he  is  objec- 
tionable in  every  way  and  she  in  every  other. 
If  I  know  the  man  as  you  have  described  him, 
he  holds  his  wife  in  slavery  at  present." 

"She's  twenty  years  younger  than  he." 

"Poor  wretch!  And,  in  the  end,  after  he 
has  posed  and  swaggered  and  lied — he  has  a 
mouth  under  that  ragged  moustache  simply 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        109 

made  for  lies — he  will  be  rewarded  according 
to  his  merits." 

"I  wonder  what  those  really  are,"  said  Mrs. 
Mallowe. 

But  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  her  face  close  to  the 
shelf  of  the  new  books,  was  humming  softly: 
"What  shall  he  have  who  killed  the  Deer!" 
She  was  a  lady  of  unfettered  speech. 

One  month  later,  she  announced  her  inten- 
tion of  calling  upon  Mrs.  Delville.  Both  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  and  Mrs.  Mallowe  were  in  morning 
wrappers,  and  there  was  a  great  peace  in  the 
land. 

"I  should  go  as  I  was,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe. 
"It  would  be  a  delicate  compliment  to  her 
style." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  studied  herself  in  the  glass. 

"Assuming  for  a  moment  that  she  ever 
darkened  these  doors,  I  should  put  on  this 
robe,  after  all  the  others,  to  show  her  what  a 
morning  wrapper  ought  to  be.  It  might  en- 
lighten her.  As  it  is,  I  shall  go  in  the  dove-col- 
ored  sweet  emblem  of  youth  and  innocence 

— and  shall  put  on  my  new  gloves." 

"If  you  really  are  going,  dirty  tan  would  be 
too  good ;  and  you  know  that  dove-color  spots 
with  the  rain." 

"I  care  not    I  may  make  her  envious.    At 


no       A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

least  I  shall  try,  though  one  cannot  expect  very 
much  from  such  a  woman,  who  puts  a  lace 
tucker  into  her  habit." 

"Just  Heavens!    When  did  she  do  that?" 

"Yesterday — riding  with  The  Dancing  Mas- 
ter. I  met  them  at  the  back  of  Jakko,  and 
the  rain  had  made  the  lace  lie  down.  To  com- 
plete the  effect,  she  was  wearing  an  unclean 
terai  with  the  elastic  under  her  chin.  I  felt 
almost  too  well  content  to  take  the  trouble  to 
despise  her." 

"The  Hawley  Boy  was  riding  with  you. 
What  did  he  think?" 

"Does  a  boy  ever  notice  these  things? 
Should  I  like  him  if  he  did?  He  stared  in 
the  rudest  way,  and  just  when  I  thought  he 
had  seen  the  elastic,  he  said,  'There's  some- 
thing very  taking  about  that  face.'  I  rebuked 
him  on  the  spot.  I  don't  approve  of  boys 
being  taken  by  faces." 

"Other  than  your  own.  I  shouldn't  be  in 
the  least  surprised  if  the  Hawley  Boy  immedi- 
ately went  to  call." 

"I  forbade  him.  Let  her  be  satisfied  with 
The  Dancing  Master,  and  his  wife  when  she 
comes  up.  I'm  rather  curious  to  see  Mrs. 
Bent  and  the  Delville  woman  together." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  departed  and,  at  the  end  of 
an  hour,  returned  slightly  flushed. 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN       ill 

"There  is  no  limit  to  the  treachery  of  youth ! 
I  ordered  the  Hawley  Boy,  as  he  valued  my 
patronage,  not  to  call.  The  first  person  I 
stumble  over — literally  stumble  over — in  her 
poky,  dark,  little  drawing-room  is,  of  course, 
the  Hawley  Boy.  She  kept  us  waiting  ten 
minutes,  and  then  emerged  as  though  she  had 
been  tipped  out  of  the  dirty-clothes  basket. 
You  know  my  way,  dear,  when  I  am  at  all  put 
out.  I  was  Superior,  crrrrushingly  Superior! 
'Lifted  my  eyes  to  Heaven,  and  had  heard  of 
nothing — dropped  my  eyes  on  the  carpet  and 
'really  didn't  know' — played  with  my  card- 
case  and  'supposed  so.'  The  Hawley  Boy  gig- 
gled like  a  girl,  and  I  had  to  freeze  him  with 
scowls  between  the  sentences." 

"And  she?" 

"She  sat  in  a  heap  on  the  edge  of  a  couch, 
and  managed  to  convey  the  impression  that 
she  was  suffering  from  stomach-ache,  at  the 
very  least.  It  was  all  I  could  do  not  to  ask 
after  her  symptoms.  When  I  rose  she  grunted 
just  like  a  buffalo  in  the  water — too  lazy  to 
move." 

"Are  you  certain?" — 

"Am  I  blind,  Polly?  Laziness,  sheer  lazi- 
ness, nothing  else — or  her  garments  were  only 
constructed  for  sitting  down  in.  I  stayed  for 


H2        A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

a  quarter  of  an  hour  trying  to  penetrate  the 
gloom,  to  guess  what  her  surroundings  were 
like,  while  she  stuck  out  her  tongue." 

"Lu— cy!" 

"Well — I'll  withdraw  the  tongue,  though 
I'm  sure  if  she  didn't  do  it  when  I  was  in  the 
room,  she  did  the  minute  I  was  outside.  At 
any  rate,  she  lay  in  a  lump  and  grunted.  Ask 
the  Hawley  Boy,  dear.  I  believe  the  grunts 
were  meant  for  sentences,  but  she  spoke  so  in- 
distinctly that  I  can't  swear  to  it." 

"You  are  incorrigible,  simply." 

"I  am  not!  Treat  me  civilly,  give  me  peace 
with  honor,  don't  put  the  only  available  seat 
facing  the  window,  and  a  child  may  eat  jam  in 
my  lap  before  Church.  But  I  resent  being 
grunted  at.  Wouldn't  you?  Do  you  suppose 
that  she  communicates  her  views  on  life  and 
love  to  The  Dancing  Master  in  a  set  of  modu- 
lated 'Grmphs'?" 

"You  attach  too  much  importance  to  The 
Dancing  Master." 

"He  came  as  we  went,  and  The  Dowd  grew 
almost  cordial  at  the  sight  of  him.  He  smiled 
greasily,  and  moved  about  that  darkened  dog- 
kennel  in  a  suspiciously  familiar  way." 

"Don't  be  uncharitable.  Any  sin  but  that 
I'll  forgive." 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        113 

"Listen  to  the  voice  of  History.  I  am  only 
describing  what  I  saw.  He  entered,  the  heap 
on  the  sofa  revived  slightly,  and  the  Hawley 
Boy  and  I  came  away  together.  He  is  disillu- 
sioned, but  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  lecture  him 
severely  for  going  there.  And  that's  all." 

"Now  for  Pity's  sake  leave  the  wretched 
creature  and  The  Dancing  Master  alone. 
They  never  did  you  any  harm." 

"No  harm?  To  dress  as  an  example  and  a 
stumbling-block  for  half  Simla,  and  then  to 
find  this  Person  who  is  dressed  by  the  hand  of 
God — not  that  I  wish  to  disparage  Him  for  a 
moment,  but  you  know  the  tikka  dhursie  way 
He  attires  those  lilies  of  the  field — this  Person 
draws  the  eyes  of  men — and  some  of  them 
nice  men!  It's  almost  enough  to  make  one 
discard  clothing.  I  told  the  Hawley  Boy  so." 

"And  what  did  that  sweet  youth  do?" 

"Turned  shell-pink  and  looked  across  the 
far  blue  hills  like  a  distressed  cherub.  Am  I 
talking  wildly,  Polly?  Let  me  say  my  say, 
and  I  shall  be  calm.  Otherwise  I  may  go 
abroad  and  disturb  Simla  with  a  few  original 
reflections.  Excepting  always  your  own  sweet 
self,  there  isn't  a  single  woman  in  the  land  who 
understands  me  when  I  am — what's  the 
word?" 


114        A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

"Tete-felee,"  suggested  Mrs.  Mallowe. 

"Exactly !  And  now  let  us  have  tiffin.  The 
demands  of  Society  are  exhausting,  and  as 
Mrs.  Delville  says" —  Here  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
to  the  horror  of  the  khitmatgars,  lapsed  into  a 
series  of  grunts,  while  Mrs.  Mallowe  stared  in 
lazy  surprise. 

"  'God  gie  us  a  gude  conceit  of  oorselves.' ' 
said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  piously,  returning  to  her 
natural  speech.  "Now,  in  any  other  woman 
that  would  have  been  vulgar.  I  am  consumed 
with  curiosity  to  see  Mrs.  Bent.  I  expect  com- 
plications." 

"Woman  of  one  idea,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe, 
shortly;  "all  complications  are  as  old  as  the 
hills!  I  have  lived  through  or  near  all — all — 
ALL!" 

"And  yet  do  not  understand  that  men  and 
women  never  behave  twice  alike.  I  am  old 
who  was  young — if  ever  I  put  my  head  in  your 
lap,  you  dear,  big  sceptic,  you  will  learn  that 
my  parting  is  gauze — but  never,  no  never, 
have  I  lost  my  interest  in  men  and  women. 
Polly,  I  shall  see  this  business  out  to  the  bit- 
ter end." 

"I  am  going  to  sleep,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe, 
calmly.  "I  never  interfere  with  men  or 
women  unless  I  am  compelled,"  and  she  re- 
tired with  dignity  to  her  own  room. 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN         115 

Mrs.  Hauksbee's  curiosity  was  not  long  left 
ungratified,  for  Mrs.  Bent  came  up  to  Simla  a 
few  days  after  the  conversation  faithfully  re- 
ported above,  and  pervaded  the  Mall  by  her 
husband's  side. 

"Behold!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  thought- 
fully rubbing  her  nose.  "That  is  the  last  link 
of  the  chain,  if  we  omit  the  husband  of  the 
Delville,  whoever  he  may  be.  Let  me  consider. 
The  Bents  and  the  Delvilles  inhabit  the  same 
hotel;  and  the  Delville  is  detested  by  the 
Waddy — do  you  know  the  Waddy? — who  is 
almost  as  big  a  dowd.  The  Waddy  also  abom- 
inates the  male  Bent,  for  which,  if  her  other 
sins  do  not  weigh  too  heavily,  she  will  eventu- 
ally go  to  Heaven." 

"Don't  be  irreverent,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe, 
"I  like  Mrs.  Bent's  face." 

"I  am  discussing  the  Waddy,"  returned 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  loftily.  "The  Waddy  will 
take  the  female  Bent  apart,  after  having  bor- 
rowed— yes! — everything  that  she  can,  from 
hairpins  to  babies'  bottles.  Such,  my  dear,  is 
life  in  a  hotel.  The  Waddy  will  tell  the  fe- 
male Bent  facts  and  fictions  about  The  Danc- 
ing Master  and  The  Dowd." 

"Lucy,  I  should  like  you  better  if  you  were 
not  always  looking  into  people's  back-bed- 
rooms." 


Ii6        A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

"Anybody  can  look  into  their  front  draw- 
ing-rooms; and  remember  whatever  I  do,  and 
wherever  I  look,  I  never  talk — as  the  Waddy 
will.  Let  us  hope  that  The  Dancing  Master's 
greasy  smile  and  manner  of  the  pedagogue 
will  soften  the  heart  of  that  cow,  his  wife.  If 
mouths  speak  truth,  I  should  think  that  little 
Mrs.  Bent  could  get  very  angry  on  occasion." 

"But  what  reason  has  she  for  being  angry  ?" 

"What  reason!  The  Dancing  Master  in 
himself  is  a  reason.  How  does  it  go?  'If  in 
his  life  some  trivial  errors  fall,  Look  in  his 
face  and  you'll  believe  them  all.'  I  am  pre- 
pared to  credit  any  evil  of  The  Dancing  Mas- 
ter, because  I  hate  him  so.  And  The  Dowd  is 
so  disgustingly  badly  dressed" — 

"That  she,  too,  is  capable  of  every  iniquity  ? 
I  always  prefer  to  believe  the  best  of  every- 
body. It  saves  so  much  trouble." 

"Very  good.  I  prefer  to  believe  the  worst. 
It  saves  useless  expenditure  of  sympathy.  And 
you  may  be  quite  certain  that  the  Waddy  be- 
lieves with  me." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  sighed  and  made  no  answer. 

The  conversation  was  holden  after  dinner 
while  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  dressing  for  a  dance. 

"I  am  too  tired  to  go,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe, and  Mrs.  Hauksbee  left  her  in  peace  till 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        117 

two  in  the  morning,  when  she  was  aware  of 
emphatic  knocking  at  her  door. 

"Don't  be  very  angry,  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee.  "My  idiot  of  an  ayah  has  gone 
home,  and,  as  I  hope  to  sleep  to-night,  there 
isn't  a  soul  in  the  place  to  unlace  me." 

"Oh,  this  is  too  bad!"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe, 
sulkily. 

"  'Can't  help  it.  I'm  a  lone,  lorn  grass- 
widow,  dear,  but  I  will  not  sleep  in  my  stays. 

And  such  news,  too!  Oh,  do  unlace  me, 
there's  a  darling!  The  Dowd — The  Dancing 
Master — I  and  the  Hawley  Boy —  You  know 
the  North  veranda?" 

"How  can  I  do  anything  if  you  spin  round 
like  this?"  protested  Mrs.  Mallowe,  fumbling 
with  the  knot  of  the  laces. 

"Oh,  I  forget.  I  must  tell  my  tale  without 
the  aid  of  your  eyes.  Do  you  know  you've 
lovely  eyes,  dear?  Well,  to  begin  with,  I  took 
the  Hawley  Boy  to  a  kala  juggah." 

"Did  he  want  much  taking?" 

"Lots !  There  was  an  arrangement  of  loose- 
boxes  in  kanats,  and  she  was  in  the  next  one 
talking  to  him." 

"Which?    How?    Explain." 

"You  know  what  I  mean — The  Dowd  and 
The  Dancing  Master.  We  could  hear  every 


n8       A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

word,  and  we  listened  shamelessly — 'specially 
the  Hawley  Boy.  Polly,  I  quite  love  that 
woman !" 

"This  is  interesting.  There!  Now  turn 
round.  What  happened  ?" 

"One  moment.  Ah — h!  Blessed  relief. 
I've  been  looking  forward  to  taking  them  off 
for  the  last  half-hour — which  is  ominous  at 
my  time  of  life.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  we  lis- 
tened and  heard  The  Dowd  drawl  worse  than 
ever.  She  drops  her  final  g's  like  a  barmaid  or 
a  blue-blooded  Aide-de-Camp.  'Look  he-ere, 
you're  gettin'  too  fond  o'  me,'  she  said,  and 
The  Dancing  Master  owned  it  was  so  in  lan- 
guage that  nearly  made  me  ill.  The  Dowd 
reflected  for  a  while.  Then  we  heard  her  say, 
'Look  he-ere,  Mister  Bent,  why  are  you  such 
an  aw-ful  liar?'  I  nearly  exploded  while  The 
Dancing  Master  denied  the  charge.  It  seems 
that  he  never  told  her  he  was  a  married  man." 

"I  said  he  wouldn't." 

"And  she  had  taken  this  to  heart,  on  per- 
sonal grounds,  I  suppose.  She  drawled  along 
for  four  or  five  minutes,  reproaching  him  with 
his  perfidy,  and  grew  quite  motherly.  'Now 
you've  got  a  nice  little  wife  of  your  own — you 
have,'  she  said.  'She's  ten  times  too  good  for 
a  fat  old  man  like  you,  and,  look  he-ere,  you 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAJN         119 

never  told  me  a  word  about  her,  and  I've  been 
thinkin'  about  it  a  good  deal,  and  I  think 
you're  a  liar.'  Wasn't  that  delicious?  The 
Dancing  Master  maundered  and  raved  till  the 
Hawley  Boy  suggested  that  he  should  burst  in 
and  beat  him.  His  voice  runs  up  into  an  im- 
passioned squeak  when  he  is  afraid.  The 
Dowd  must  be  an  extraordinary  woman.  She 
explained  that  had  he  been  a  bachelor  she 
might  not  have  objected  to  his  devotion;  but 
since  he  was  a  married  man  and  the  father  of 
a  very  nice  baby,  she  considered  him  a  hypo- 
crite, and  this  she  repeated  twice.  She  wound 
up  her  drawl  with :  'An'  I'm  tellin'  you  this  be- 
cause your  wife  is  angry  with  me,  an'  I  hate 
quarrelin'  with  any  other  woman,  an'  I  like 
your  wife.  You  know  how  you  have  behaved 
for  the  last  six  weeks.  You  shouldn't  have 
done  it,  indeed  you  shouldn't.  You're  too  old 
an'  too  fat.'  Can't  you  imagine  how  The 
Dancing  Master  would  wince  at  that!  'Now 
go  away,'  she  said.  'I  don't  want  to  tell  you 
what  I  think  of  you,  because  I  think  you  are 
not  nice.  I'll  stay  he-ere  till  the  next  dance  be- 
gins.' Did  you  think  that  the  creature  had  so 
much  in  her?" 

"I  never  studied  her  as  closely  as  you  did, 
It  sounds  unnatural.    What  happened?" 


120       A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

"The  Dancing  Master  attempted  blandish- 
ment, reproof,  jocularity,  and  the  style  of  the 
Lord  High  Warden,  and  I  had  almost  to  pinch 
the  Hawley  Boy  to  make  him  keep  quiet.  She 
grunted  at  the  end  of  each  sentence  and,  in 
the  end  he  went  away  swearing  to  himself, 
quite  like  a  man  in  a  novel.  He  looked  more 
objectionable  than  ever.  I  laughed.  I  love 
that  woman — in  spite  of  her  clothes.  And 
now  I'm  going  to  bed.  What  do  you  think  of 
it?" 

"I  sha'n't  begin  to  think  till  the  morning," 
said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  yawning.  "Perhaps  she 
spoke  the  truth.  They  do  fly  into  it  by  acci- 
dent sometimes." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee's  account  of  her  eavesdrop- 
ping was  an  ornate  one  but  truthful  in  the 
main.  For  reasons  best  known  to  he^elf, 
Mrs.  "Shady"  Delville  had  turned  upon  Mr. 
Bent  and  rent  him  limb  from  limb,  casting 
him  away  limp  and  disconcerted  ere  she  with- 
drew the  light  of  her  eyes  from  him  perma- 
nently. Being  a  man  of  resource,  and  anything 
but  pleased  in  that  he  had  been  called  both  old 
and  fat,  he  gave  Mrs.  Bent  to  understand  that 
he  had,  during  her  absence  in  the  Doon,  been 
the  victim  of  unceasing  persecution  at  the 
hands  of  Mrs.  Delville,  and  he  told  the  talt 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        121 

so  often  and  with  such  eloquence  that  he  ended 
in  believing  it,  while  his  wife  marvelled  at  the 
manners  and  customs  of  "some  women." 
When  the  situation  showed  signs  of  languish- 
ing, Mrs.  Waddy  was  always  on  hand  to  wake 
the  smouldering  fires  of  suspicion  in  Mrs. 
Bent's  bosom  and  to  contribute  generally  to 
the  peace  and  comfort  of  the  hotel.  Mr. 
Bent's  life  was  not  a  happy  one,  for  if  Mrs. 
Waddy's  story  were  true,  he  was,  argued  his 
wife,  untrustworthy  to  the  last  degree.  If  his 
own  statement  was  true,  his  charms  of  manner 
and  conversation  were  so  great  that  he  needed 
constant  surveillance.  And  he  received  it  till  he 
repented  genuinely  of  his  marriage  and  neg- 
lected his  personal  appearance.  Mrs.  Delville 
alone  in  the  hotel  was  unchanged.  She  re- 
moved her  chair  some  six  paces  toward  the 
head  of  the  table,  and  occasionally  in  the  twi- 
light ventured  on  timid  overtures  of  friendship 
to  Mrs.  Bent,  which  were  repulsed. 

"She  does  it  for  my  sake,"  hinted  the  virtu- 
ous Bent. 

"A     dangerous     and     designing     woman," 
purred  Mrs.  Waddy. 

Worst  of  all,  every  other  hotel  in  Simla  was 
full! 

****** 


122       A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

"Polly,  are  you  afraid  of  diphtheria?" 

"Of  nothing  in  the  world  except  smallpox. 
Diphtheria  kills,  but  it  doesn't  disfigure.  Why 
do  you  ask?" 

"Because  the  Bent  baby  has  got  it,  and  the 
whole  hotel  is  upside  down  in  consequence. 
The  Waddy  has  "set  her  five  young  on  the 
rail"  and  fled.  The  Dancing  Master  fears  for 
his  precious  throat,  and  that  miserable  little 
woman,  his  wife,  has  no  notion  of  what  ought 
to  be  done.  She  wanted  to  put  it  into  a  mus- 
tard bath — for  croup!" 

"Where  did  you  learn  all  this?" 

"Just  now,  on  the  Mall.  Dr.  Howlen  told 
me.  The  Manager  of  the  hotel  is  abusing  the 
Bents,  and  the  Bents  are  abusing  the  Manager. 
They  are  a  feckless  couple." 

"Well.     What's  on  your  mind?" 

"This ;  and  I  know  it's  a  grave  thing  to  ask. 
Would  you  seriously  object  to  my  bringing  the 
child  over  here,  with  its  mother?" 

"On  the  most  strict  understanding  that  we 
see  nothing  of  The  Dancing  Master." 

"He  will  be  only  too  glad  to  stay  away. 
Polly,  you're  an  angel.  The  woman  really  is 
at  her  wits'  end." 

"And  you  know  nothing  about  her,  care- 
less, and  would  hold  her  up  to  public  scorn  if 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        123 

it  .gave  you  a  minute's  amusement.  Therefore 
y\  u  risk  your  life  for  the  sake  of  her  brat.  No, 
Loo,  I'm  not  the  angel.  I  shall  keep  to  my 
rooms  and  avoid  her.  But  do  as  you  please — 
only  tell  me  why  you  do  it." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee's  eyes  softened;  she  looked 
out  of  the  window  and  back  into  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe's  face. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  sim- 
ply. 

"You  dear!" 

"Polly! — and  for  aught  you  knew  you 
might  have  taken  my  fringe  off.  Never  do 
that  again  without  warning.  Now  we'll  get 
the  rooms  ready.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  be  al- 
lowed to  circulate  in  society  for  a  month." 

"And  I  also.  Thank  goodness  I  shall  at 
last  get  all  the  sleep  I  want." 

Much  to  Mrs.  Bent's  surprise  she  and  the 
baby  were  brought  over  to  the  house  almost 
before  she  knew  where  she  was.  Bent  was 
devoutly  and  undisguisedly  thankful,  for  he 
was  afraid  of  the  infection,  and  also  hoped 
that  a  few  weeks  in  the  hotel  alone  with  Mrs. 
Delville  might  lead  to  explanations.  Mrs. 
Bent  had  thrown  her  jealousy  to  the  winds  in 
her  fear  for  her  child's  life. 

"We  can  give  you  good  milk,"  said  Mrs. 


124        A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

Hauksbee  to  her,  "and  our  house  is  much 
nearer  to  the  Doctor's  than  the  hotel,  and  you 
won't  feel  as  though  you  were  living  in  a  hos- 
tile camp.  Where  is  the  dear  Mrs.  Waddy? 
She  seemed  to  be  a  particular  friend  of  yours." 

"They've  all  left  me,"  said  Mrs.  Bent,  bit- 
terly. "Mrs.  Waddy  went  first.  She  said  I 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself  for  introducing 
diseases  there,  and  I  am  sure  it  wasn't  my  fault 
that  little  Dora" — 

"How  nice!"  cooed  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  "The 
Waddy  is  an  infectious  disease  herself — 'more 
quickly  caught  than  the  plague  and  the  taker 
runs  presently  mad.'  I  lived  next  door  to  her 
at  the  Elysium,  three  years  ago.  Now  see, 
you  won't  give  us  the  least  trouble,  and  I've 
ornamented  all  the  house  with  sheets  soaked  in 
carbolic.  It  smells  comforting,  doesn't  it? 
Remember  I'm  always  in  call,  and  my  ayah's 
at  your  service  when  yours  goes  to  her  meals 
and — and — if  you  cry  I'll  never  forgive  you." 

Dora  Bent  occupied  her  mother's  unprofit- 
able attention  through  the  day  and  the  night. 
The  Doctor  called  thrice  in  the  twenty-four 
hours,  and  the  house  reeked  with  the  smell  of 
the  Condy's  Fluid,  chlorine-water,  and  car- 
bolic acid  washes.  Mrs.  Mallowe  kept  to  her 
own  rooms — she  considered  that  she  had  made 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        125 

sufficient  concessions  in  the  cause  of  humanity 
— and  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  more  esteemed  by 
the  Doctor  as  a  help  in  the  sick-room  than  the 
half-distraught  mother. 

"I  know  nothing  of  illness,"  said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  to  the  Doctor.  "Only  tell  me  what 
to  do,  and  I'll  do  it." 

"Keep  that  crazy  woman  from  kissing  the 
child,  and  let  her  have  as  little  to  do  with  the 
nursing  as  you  possibly  can,"  said  the  Doctor; 
"I'd  turn  her  out  of  the  sick-room,  but  that  I 
honestly  believe  she'd  die  of  anxiety.  She  is 
less  than  no  good,  and  I  depend  on  you  and 
the  ayahs,  remember." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  accepted  the  responsibility, 
though  it  painted  olive  hollows  under  her  eyes 
and  forced  her  to  her  oldest  dresses.  Mrs. 
Bent  clung  to  her  with  more  than  childlike 
faith. 

"I  know  you'll  make  Dora  well,  won't 
you?"  she  said  at  least  twenty  times  a  day; 
and  twenty  times  a  day  Mrs.  Hauksbee  an- 
swered valiantly,  "Of  course  I  will." 

But  Dora  did  not  improve,  and  the  Doctor 
seemed  to  be  always  in  the  house. 

"There's  some  danger  of  the  thing  taking  a 
bad  turn,"  he  said;  "I'll  come  over  between 
three  and  four  in  the  morning  to-morrow." 


126        A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

"Good  gracious!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 
"He  never  told  me  what  the  turn  would  be! 
My  education  has  been  horribly  neglected; 
and  I  have  only  this  foolish  mother-woman  to 
fall  back  upon." 

The  night  wore  through  slowly,  and  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  dozed  in  a  chair  by  the  fire.  There 
was  a  dance  at  the  Viceregal  Lodge,  and  she 
dreamed  of  it  till  she  was  aware  of  Mrs. 
Bent's  anxious  eyes  staring  into  her  own. 

"Wake  up!  Wake  up!  Do  something!" 
cried  Mrs.  Bent,  piteously.  "Dora's  choking 
to  death!  Do  you  mean  to  let  her  die?" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  jumped  to  her  feet  and  bent 
over  the  bed.  The  child  was  fighting  for 
breath,  while  the  mother  wrung  her  hands  de- 
spairing. 

"Oh,  what  can  I  do?  What  can  you  do? 
She  won't  stay  still !  I  can't  hold  her.  Why 
didn't  the  Doctor  say  this  was  coming?" 
screamed  Mrs.  Bent.  "Won't  you  help  me? 
She's  dying!" 

"I — I've  never  seen  a  child  die  before!" 
stammered  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  feebly,  and  then — 
let  none  blame  her  weakness  after  the  strain  of 
long  watching — she  broke  down,  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands.  The  ayahs  on  the 
threshold  snored  peacefully. 


*A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        127 

There  was  a  rattle  of  'rickshaw  wheels  be- 
low, the  clash  of  an  opening  door,  a  heavy  step 
on  the  stairs,  and  Mrs.  Delville  entered  to  find 
Mrs.  Bent  screaming  for  the  Doctor  as  she 
ran  round  the  room.  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  her 
hands  to  her  ears,  and  her  face  buried  in  the 
chintz  of  a  chair,  was  quivering  with  pain  at 
each  cry  from  the  bed,  and  murmuring, 
"Thank  God,  I  never  bore  a  child!  Oh,  thank 
God,  I  never  bore  a  child!" 

Mrs.  Delville  looked  at  the  bed  for  an  in- 
stant, took  Mrs.  Bent  by  the  shoulders,  and 
said,  quietly,  "Get  me  some  caustic.  Be 
quick." 

The  mother  obeyed  mechanically.  Mrs.  Del- 
ville had  thrown  herself  down  by  the  side  of 
the  child  and  was  opening  its  mouth. 

"Oh,  you're  killing  her!"  cried  Mrs.  Bent. 
"Where's  the  Doctor?  Leave  her  alone!" 

Mrs.  Delville  made  no  reply  for  a  minute,, 
but  busied  herself  with  the  child. 

"Now  the  caustic,  and  hold  a  lamp  behind 
my  shoulder.  Will  you  do  as  you  are  told? 
The  acid-bottle,  if  you  don't  know  what  I 
mean,"  she  said. 

A  second  time  Mrs.  Delville  bent  over  the 
child.  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  her  face  still  hidden, 
sobbed  and  shivered.  One  of  the  ayahs  stag' 


128        A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

gered  sleepily  into  the  room,  yawning:  "Doo 
tor  Sahib  come." 

Mrs.  Delville  turned  her  head. 

"You're  only  just  in  time,"  she  said.  "It 
was  chokin'  her  when  I  came  an'  I've  burned 
it." 

"There  was  no  sign  of  the  membrane  get- 
ting to  the  air-passages  after  the  last  steaming. 
It  was  the  general  weakness  I  feared,"  said 
the  Doctor  half  to  himself,  and  he  whispered 
as  he  looked,  "You've  done  what  I  should  have 
been  afraid  to  do  without  consultation." 

"She  was  dyin',"  said  Mrs.  Delville,  under 
her  breath.  "Can  you  do  anythin'?  What  a 
mercy  it  was  I  went  to  the  dance!" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  raised  her  head. 

"Is  it  all  over?"  she  gasped.  "I'm  useless 
— I'm  worse  than  useless !  What  are  you  do- 
ing here?" 

She  stared  at  Mrs.  Delville,  and  Mrs.  Bent, 
realizing  for  the  first  time  who  was  the  God- 
dess from  the  Machine,  stared  also. 

Then  Mrs.  Delville  made  explanation,  put- 
ting on  a  dirty  long  glove  and  smoothing  a 
crumpled  and  ill-fitting  ball-dress. 

"I  was  at  the  dance,  an'  the  Doctor  was 
tellin'  me  about  your  baby  bein'  so  ill.  So  I 
came  away  early,  an'  your  door  was  open,  an* 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        129 

I — I — lost  my  boy  this  way  six  months  ago, 
an'  I've  been  tryin'  to  forget  it  ever  since,  an' 
I — I — I  am  very  sorry  for  intrudin'  an'  any- 
thin'  that  has  happened." 

Mrs.  Bent  was  putting  out  the  Doctor's  eye 
with  a  lamp  as  he  stooped  over  Dora. 

"Take  it  away,"  said  the  Doctor.  "I  think 
the  child  will  do,  thanks  to  you,  Mrs.  Delville. 
/  should  have  come  too  late,  but,  I  assure  you" 
— he  was  addressing  himself  to  Mrs.  Delville 
— "I  had  not  the  faintest  reason  to  expect  this. 
The  membrane  must  have  grown  like  a  mush- 
room. Will  one  of  you  help  me,  please?" 

He  had  reason  for  the  last  sentence.  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  had  thrown  herself  into  Mrs.  Del- 
ville's  arms,  where  she  was  weeping  bitterly, 
and  Mrs.  Bent  was  unpicturesquely  mixed  up 
with  both,  while  from  the  tangle  came  the 
sound  of  many  sobs  and  much  promiscuous 
kissing. 

"Good  gracious!  I've  spoilt  all  your  beau- 
tiful roses!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  lifting  her 
head  from  the  lump  of  crushed  gum  and  calico 
atrocities  on  Mrs.  Delville's  shoulder  and  hur- 
rying to  the  Doctor. 

Mrs.  Delville  picked  up  her  shawl,  and 
slouched  out  of  the  room,  mopping  her  eyes 
with  the  glove  that  she  had  not  put  on. 


130        A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

"I  always  said  she  was  more  than  a 
woman,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  hysterically, 

"and  that  proves  it!" 

****** 

Six  weeks  later,  Mrs.  Bent  and  Dora  had 
returned  to  the  hotel.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  had 
come  out  of  the  Valley  of  Humiliation,  had 
ceased  to  reproach  herself  for  her  collapse  in 
an  hour  of  need,  and  was  even  beginning  to 
direct  the  affairs  of  the  world  as  before. 

"So  nobody  died,  and  everything  went  off 
as  it  should,  and  I  kissed  The  Dowd,  Polly.  I 
feel  so  old.  Does  it  show  in  my  face?" 

"Kisses  don't  as  a  rule,  do  they  ?  Of  course 
you  know  what  the  result  of  The  Dowd's 
providential  arrival  has  been." 

"They  ought  to  build  her  a  statue — only  no 
sculptor  dare  copy  those  skirts." 

"Ah!"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  quietly.  "She 
has  found  another  reward.  The  Dancing 
Master  has  been  smirking  through  Simla,  giv- 
ing every  one  to  understand  that  she  came  be- 
cause of  her  undying  love  for  him — for  him — 
to  save  his  child,  and  all  Simla  naturally  be- 
lieves this." 

"But  Mrs.  Bent"-^ 

*Mfs.  Bent  believes  it  more  than  any  one 
else.  She  won't  speak  to  The  Dowd  now. 
Isn't  The  Dancing  Master  an  angel?" 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN        131 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  lifted  up  her  voice  and  raged 
till  bedtime.  The  doors  of  the  two  rooms 
stood  open. 

"Polly,"  said  a  voice  from  the  darkness, 
"what  did  that  American-heiress-globe-trotter 
girl  say  last  season  when  she  was  tipped  out  of 
her  'rickshaw  turning  a  corner  ?  Some  absurd 
adjective  that  made  the  man  who  picked  her 
up  explode." 

"  'Paltry,'  "  said  Mrs.  Mallowe.  "Through 
her  nose — like  this — 'Ha-ow  pahltry !' ' 

"Exactly,"  said  the  voice.  "Ha-ow  pahltry 
it  all  is!" 

"Which?" 

"Everything.  Babies,  Diphtheria,  Mrs. 
Bent  and  The  Dancing  Master,  I  whooping  in 
a  chair,  and  The  Dowd  dropping  in  from  the 
clouds.  I  wonder  what  the  motive  was — all 
the  motives." 

"Urn!" 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"Don't  ask  me.    Go  to  sleep." 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

.  .  .  Not  only  to  enforce  by  command  but  to  en- 
courage by  example  the  energetic  discharge  of  duty  and 
the  steady  endurance  of  the  difficulties  and  privations 
inseparable  from  Military  Service. — Bengal  Army  Reg- 
ulations. 

f  I  VHEY  made  Bobby  Wick  pass  an  examin- 
-*•  ation  at  Sandhurst.  He  was  a  gentleman 
before  he  was  gazetted,  so,  when  the  Empress 
announced  that  "Gentleman-Cadet  Robert 
Hanna  Wick"  was  posted  as  Second  Lieuten- 
ant to  the  Tyneside  Tail  Twisters  at  Krab 
Bokhar,  he  became  an  officer  and  a  gentleman, 
which  is  an  enviable  thing;  and  there  was  joy 
in  the  house  of  Wick  where  Mamma  Wick  and 
all  the  little  Wicks  fell  upon  their  knees  and 
offered  incense  to  Bobby  by  virtue  of  his 
achievements. 

Papa  Wick  had  been  a  Commissioner  in  his 
day,  holding  authority  over  three  millions  of 
men  in  the  Chota-Buldana  Division,  building 
great  works  for  the  good  of  the  land,  and  do- 
ing his  best  to  make  two  blades  of  grass  grow 
135 


136  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

where  there  was  but  one  before.  Of  course, 
nobody  knew  anything  about  this  in  the  little 
English  village  where  he  was  just  "old  Mr. 
Wick"  and  had  forgotten  that  he  was  a  Com- 
panion of  the  Order  of  the  Star  of  India. 

He  patted  Bobby  on  the  shoulder  and  said: 
"Well  done,  my  boy!" 

There  followed,  while  the  uniform  was 
being  prepared,  an  interval  of  pure  delight, 
during  which  Bobby  took  brevet-rank  as  a 
"man"  at  the  women-swamped  tennis-parties 
and  tea-fights  of  the  village,  and,  I  dare  say, 
had  his  joining-time  been  extended,  would 
have  fallen  in  love  with  several  girls  at  once. 
Little  country  villages  at  Home  are  very  full 
of  nice  girls,  because  all  the  young  men  come 
out  to  India  to  make  their  fortunes. 

"India,"  said  Papa  Wick,  "is  the  place.  I've 
had  thirty  years  of  it  and,  begad,  I'd  like  to 
go  back  again.  When  you  join  the  Tail 
Twisters  you'll  be  among  friends,  if  every  one 
hasn't  forgotten  Wick  of  Chota-Buldana,  and 
a  lot  of  people  will  be  kind  to  you  for  our 
sakes.  The  mother  will  tell  you  more  about 
outfit  than  I  can,  but  remember  this :  Stick 
to  your  Regiment,  Bobby — stick  to  your  Regi- 
ment. You'll  see  men  all  round  you  going 
into  the  Staff  Corps,  and  doing  every  possible 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN  137 

sort  of  duty  but  regimental,  and  you  may  be 
tempted  to  follow  suit.  Now  so  long  as  you 
keep  within  your  allowance,  and  I  haven't 
stinted  you  there,  stick  to  the  Line,  the  whole 
Line  and  nothing  but  the  Line.  Be  careful 
how  you  back  another  young  fool's  bill,  and  if 
you  fall  in  love  with  a  woman  twenty  years 
older  than  yourself,  don't  tell  me  about  it, 
that's  all." 

With  these  cpunsels,  and  many  others 
equally  valuable,  did  Papa  Wick  fortify  Bobby 
ere  that  last  awful  night  at  Portsmouth  when 
the  Officers'  Quarters  held  more  inmates  than 
were  provided  for  by  the  Regulations,  and  the 
liberty-men  of  the  ships  fell  foul  of  the  drafts 
for  India,  and  the  battle  raged  from  the  Dock- 
yard Gates  even  to  the  slums  of  Longport, 
while  the  Drabs  of  Fratton  came  down  and 
scratched  the  faces  of  the  Queen's  Officers. 

Bobby  Wick,  with  an  ugly  bruise  on  his 
freckled  nose,  a  sick  and  shaky  detachment  to 
manoeuvre  inship  and  the  comfort  of  fifty 
scornful  females  to  attend  to,  had  no  time  to 
feel  homesick  till  the  Malabar  reached  mid- 
Channel,  when  he  doubled  his  emotions  with 
a  little  guard-visiting  and  a  great  many  other 
matters. 

The  Tail  Twisters  were  a  most  particular 


138  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

Regiment.  Those  who  knew  them  least  said 
that  they  were  eaten  up  with  "side."  But 
their  reserve  and  their  internal  arrangements 
generally  were  merely  protective  diplomacy. 
Some  five  years  before,  the  Colonel  command- 
ing had  looked  into  the  fourteen  fearless  eyes 
of  seven  plump  and  juicy  subalterns  who  had 
all  applied  to  enter  the  Staff  Corps,  and  had 
asked  them  why  the  three  stars  should  he,  a 
Colonel  of  the  Line,  command  a  dashed  nur- 
sery for  double-dashed  bottle-suckers  who  put 
on  condemned  tin  spurs  and  rode  qualified 
mokes  at  the  hiatused  heads  of  forsaken  Black 
Regiments.  He  was  a  rude  man  and  a  ter- 
rible. Wherefore  the  remnant  took  measures 
[with  the  half-butt  as  an  engine  of  public  opin- 
ion] till  the  rumor  went  abroad  that  young 
men  who  used  the  Tail  Twisters  as  a  crutch  to 
the  Staff  Corps,  had  many  and  varied  trials 
to  endure.  However,  a  regiment  had  just  as 
much  right  to  its  own  secrets  as  a  woman. 

When  Bobby  came  up  from  Deolali  and 
took  his  place  among  the  Tail  Twisters,  it  was 
gently  but  firmly  borne  in  upon  him  that  the 
Regiment  was  his  father  and  his  mother  and 
his  indissolubly  wedded  wife,  and  that  there 
was  no  crime  under  the  canopy  of  heaven 
blacker  than  that  of  bringing  shame  on  the 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN  139 

Regiment,  which  was  the  best-shooting,  best- 
drilled,  best  set-up,  bravest,  most  illustrious, 
and  in  all  respects  most  desirable  Regiment 
within  the  compass  of  the  Seven  Seas.  He 
was  taught  the  legends  of  the  Mess  Plate,  from 
the  great  grinning  Golden  Gods  that  had  come 
out  of  the  Summer  Palace  in  Pekin  to  the  sil- 
ver-mounted markhorhorn  snuff-mull  pre- 
sented by  the  last  C.  O.  [he  who  spake  to  the 
seven  subalterns].  And  every  one  of  those 
legends  told  him  of  battles  fought  at  long 
odds,  without  fear  as  without  support;  of  hos- 
pitality catholic  as  an  Arab's;  of  friendships 
deep  as  the  sea  and  steady  as  the  fighting-line ; 
of  honor  won  by  hard  roads  for  honor's  sake ; 
and  of  instant  and  unquestioning  devotion  to 
the  Regiment — the  Regiment  that  claims  the 
lives  of  all  and  lives  forever. 

More  than  once,  too,  he  came  officially  into 
contact  with  the  Regimental  colors,  which 
looked  like  the  lining  of  a  bricklayer's  hat  on 
the  end  of  a  chewed  stick.  Bobby  did  not 
kneel  and  worship  them,  because  British  sub- 
alterns are  not  constructed  in  that  manner. 
Indeed,  he  condemned  them  for  their  weight 
at  the  very  moment  that  they  were  filling  him 
with  awe  and  other  more  noble  sentiments. 

But  best  of  all  was  the  occasion  when  he 


1 40  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

moved  with  the  Tail  Twisters  in  review  order 
at  the  breaking  of  a  November  day.  Allowing 
for  duty-men  and  sick,  the  Regiment  was  one 
thousand  and  eighty  strong,  and  Bobby  be- 
longed to  them ;  for  was  he  not  a  Subaltern  of 
the  Line — the  whole  Line  and  nothing  but  the 
Line — as  the  tramp  of  two  thousand  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty  sturdy  ammunition  boots  at- 
tested? He  would  not  have  changed  places 
with  Deighton  of  the  Horse  Battery,  whirling 
by  in  a  pillar  of  cloud  to  a  chorus  of  "Strong 
right!  Strong  left!"  or  Hogan-Yale  of  the 
White  Hussars,  leading  his  squadron  for  all 
it  was  worth,  with  the  price  of  horseshoes 
thrown  in;  or  "Tick"  Boileau,  trying  to  live 
up  to  his  fierce  blue  and  gold  turban  while  the 
wasps  of  the  Bengal  Cavalry  stretched  to  a 
gallop  in  the  wake  of  the  long,  lollopping 
Walers  of  the  White  Hussars. 

They  fought  through  the  clear  cool  day,  and 
Bobby  felt  a  little  thrill  run  down  his  spine 
when  he  heard  the  tinkle-tinkle-tinkle  of  the 
empty  cartridge-cases  hopping  from  the 
breech-blocks  after  the  roar  of  the  volleys ;  for 
he  knew  that  he  should  live  to  hear  that  sound 
in  action.  The  review  ended  in  a  glorious 
chase  across  the  plain — batteries  thundering 
after  cavalry  to  the  huge  disgust  of  the  White 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN  141 

Hussars,  and  the  Tyneside  Tail  Twisters  hunt- 
ing a  Sikh  Regiment,  till  the  lean  lathy  Singhs 
panted  with  exhaustion.  Bobby  was  dusty 
and  dripping  long  before  noon,  but  his  enthu- 
siasm was  merely  focused — not  diminished. 

He  returned  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  Revere,  his 
"skipper,"  that  is  to  say,  the  Captain  of  his 
Company,  and  to  be  instructed  in  the  dark  art 
and  mystery  of  managing  men,  which  is  a 
very  large  part  of  the  Profession  of  Arms. 

"If  you  haven't  a  taste  that  way,"  said  Re- 
vere, between  his  puffs  of  his  cheroot,  "you'll 
never  be  able  to  get  the  hang  of  it,  but  remem- 
ber, Bobby,  'tisn't  the  best  drill,  though  drill  is 
nearly  everything,  that  hauls  a  Regiment 
through  Hell  and  out  on  the  other  side.  It's 
the  man  who  knows  how  to  handle  men — 
goat-men,  swine-men,  dog-men,  and  so  on." 

"Dormer,  for  instance,"  said  Bobby,  "I 
think  he  comes  under  the  head  of  fool-men. 
He  mopes  like  a  sick  owl." 

"That's  where  you  make  your  mistake,  my 
son.  Dormer  isn't  a  fool  yet,  but  he's  a  dashed 
dirty  soldier,  and  his  room  corporal  makes  fun 
of  his  socks  before  kit-inspection.  Dormer, 
being  two-thirds  pure  brute,  goes  into  a  cor- 
ner and  growls." 

"How  do  you  know?"  said  Bobby,  admir- 
ingly. 


142  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

"Because  a  Company  commander  has  to 
know  these  things — because,  if  he  does  not 
know,  he  may  have  crime — ay,  murder — brew- 
ing under  his  very  nose  and  yet  not  see  that  it's 
there.  Dormer  is  being  badgered  out  of  his 
mind — big  as  he  is — and  he  hasn't  intellect 
enough  to  resent  it.  He's  taken  to  quiet  booz- 
ing and,  Bobby,  when  the  butt  of  a  room  goes 
on  the  drink,  or  takes  to  moping  by  himself, 
measures  are  necessary  to  pull  him  out  of  him- 
self." 

"What  measures?  'Man  can't  run  round 
coddling  his  men  forever." 

"No.  The  men  would  precious  soon  show 
him  that  he  was  not  wanted.  You've  got  to" — 

Here  the  Color-Sergeant  entered  with  some 
papers;  Bobby  reflected  for  a  while  as  Revere 
looked  through  the  Company  forms. 

"Does  Dormer  do  anything,  Sergeant?" 
Bobby  asked,  with  the  air  of  one  continuing 
an  interrupted  conversation. 

"No,  sir.  Does  'is  dooty  like  a  hortomato," 
said  the  Sergeant,  who  delighted  in  long 
words.  "A  dirty  soldier,  and  'e's  under  full 
stoppages  for  new  kit.  It's  covered  with 
scales,  sir." 

"Scales?    What  scales?" 

"Fish-scales,  sir.    'E's  always  pokin'  in  the 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN  143 

mud  by  the  river  an'  a-cleanin'  them  muchly- 
fish  with  'is  thumbs."  Revere  was  still  ab- 
sorbed in  the  Company  papers,  and  the  Ser- 
geant, who  was  sternly  fond  of  Bobby,  con- 
tinued,— "  'E  generally  goes  down  there  when 
'e's  got  'is  skinful,  beggin'  your  pardon,  sir, 
an'  they  do  say  that  the  more  lush — in-he-bn- 
ated  'e  is,  the  more  fish  'e  catches.  They  call 
'im  the  Looney  Fishmonger  in  the  Comp'ny, 
sir." 

Revere  signed  the  last  paper  and  the  Ser- 
geant retreated. 

"It's  a  filthy  amusement,"  sighed  Bobby  to 
himself.  Then  aloud  to  Revere:  "Are  you 
really  worried  about  Dormer?" 

"A  little.  You  see  he's  never  mad  enough  to 
send  to  hospital,  or  drunk  enough  to  run  in, 
but  at  any  minute  he  may  flare  up,  brooding 
and  sulking  as  he  does.  He  resents  any  inter- 
est being  shown  in  him,  and  the  only  time  I 
took  him  out  shooting  he  all  but  shot  me  by 
accident." 

"I  fish,"  said  Bobby,  with  a  wry  face.  "I 
hire  a  country-boat  and  go  down  the  river 
from  Thursday  to  Sunday,  and  the  amiable 
Dormer  goes  with  me — if  you  can  spare  us 
both." 

"You  blazing  young  fool !"  said  Revere,  but 


144  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

his  heart   was   full  of  much   more  pleasant 
words. 

Bobby,  the  Captain  of  a  dhoni,  with  Private 
Dormer  for  mate,  dropped  down  the  river  on 
Thursday  morning — the  Private  at  the  bow, 
the  Subaltern  at  the  helm.  The  Private  glared 
uneasily  at  the  Subaltern,  who  respected  the  re- 
serve of  the  Private. 

After  six  hours,  Dormer  paced  to  the  stern, 
saluted,  and  said — "Bey  y'  pardon,  sir,  but 
was  you  ever  on  the  Durh'm  Canal  ?" 

"No,"  said  Bobby  Wick.  "Come  and  have 
some  tiffin." 

They  ate  in  silence.  As  the  evening  fell, 
Private  Dormer  broke  forth,  speaking  to  him- 
self— 

"Hi  was  on  the  Durh'm  Canal,  jes'  such  a 
night,  come  next  week  twelve  month,  a-trailin' 
of  my  toes  in  the  water."  He  smoked  and 
said  no  more  till  bedtime. 

The  witchery  of  the  dawn  turned  the  grey 
river-reaches  to  purple,  gold,  and  opal;  and  it 
was  as  though  the  lumbering  dhoni  crept 
across  the  splendors  of  a  new  heaven. 

Private  Dormer  popped  his  head  out  of  his 
blanket  and  gazed  at  the  glory  below  and 
around. 

"Well — damn — my    eyes!"      said    Private 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN  145 

Dormer,  in  an  awed  whisper.  "This  'ere  is 
like  a  bloomin'  gallantry-show !"  For  the  rest 
of  the  day  he  was  dumb,  but  achieved  an  en- 
sanguined filthiness  through  the  cleaning  of 
big  fish. 

The  boat  returned  on  Saturday  evening. 
Dormer  had  been  struggling  with  speech  since 
noon.  As  the  lines  and  luggage  were  being 
disembarked,  he  found  tongue. 

"Beg  y'  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "but  would 
you — would  you  min'  shakin'  'ands  with  me, 
sir?" 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Bobby,  and  he  shook 
accordingly.  Dormer  returned  to  barracks 
and  Bobby  to  mess. 

"He  wanted  a  little  quiet  and  some  fishing, 
I  think,"  said  Bobby.  "My  aunt,  but  he's  a 
filthy  sort  of  animal !  Have  you  ever  seen  him 
clean  'them  muchly-fish  with  'is  thumbs'  ?" 

"Anyhow,"  said  Revere,  three  weeks  later 
"he's  doing  his  best  to  keep  his  things  clean." 

When  the  spring  died,  Bobby  joined  in  the 
general  scramble  for  Hill  leave,  and  to  his  sur- 
prise and  delight  secured  three  months. 

"As  good  a  boy  as  I  want,"  said  Revere,  the 
admiring  skipper. 

"The  best  of  the  batch,"  said  the  Adjutant 
to  the  Colonel.  "Keep  back  that  young  skrim- 


146  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

shanker  Porkiss,  sir,  and  let  Revere  make  him 
sit  up." 

So  Bobby  departed  joyously  to  Simla  Pahar 
with  a  tin  box  of  gorgeous  raiment. 

"  'Son  of  Wick— old  Wick  of  Chota-Bul- 
dana?  Ask  him  to  dinner,  dear,"  said  the 
aged  men. 

"What  a  nice  boy!"  said  the  matrons  and 
the  maids. 

"First-class  place,  Simla.  Oh,  ri — ipping!" 
said  Bobby  Wick,  and  ordered  new  white  cord 
breeches  on  the  strength  of  it. 

"We're  in  a  bad  way,"  wrote  Revere  to 
Bobby  at  the  end  of  two  months.  "Since  you 
left,  the  Regiment  has  taken  to  fever  and  is 
fairly  rotten  with  it — two  hundred  in  hospital, 
about  a  hundred  in  cells — drinking  deep  to 
keep  off  fever — and  the  Companies  on  parade 
fifteen  file  strong  at  the  outside.  There's 
rather  more  sickness  in  the  out-villages  than  I 
care  for,  but  then  I'm  so  blistered  with 
prickly-heat  that  I'm  ready  to  hang  myself. 
What's  the  yarn  about  your  mashing  a  Miss 
Haverley  up  there?  Not  serious,  I  hope? 
You're  over-young  to  hang  millstones  round 
your  neck,  and  the  Colonel  will  turf  you  out  of 
that  in  double-quick  time  if  you  attempt  it." 

It  was  not  the  Colonel  that  brought  Bobby 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN  147 

out  of  Simla,  but  a  much  more  to  be  respected 
Commandant.  The  sickness  in  the  out-vil- 
lages spread,  the  Bazar  was  put  out  of  bounds, 
and  then  came  the  news  that  the  Tail  Twisters 
must  go  into  camp.  The  message  flashed  to 
the  Hill  stations. — "Cholera — Leave  stopped 
— Officers  recalled."  Alas,  for  the  white 
gloves  in  the  neatly  soldered  boxes,  the  rides 
and  the  dances  and  picnics  that  were  to  be,  the 
loves  half  spoken,  and  the  debts  unpaid! 
Without  demur  and  without  question,  fast  as 
tonga  could  fly  or  pony  gallop,  back  to  their 
Regiments  and  their  Batteries,  as  though  they 
were  hastening  to  their  weddings,  fled  the  sub- 
alterns. 

Bobby  received  his  orders  on  returning  from 
a  dance  at  Viceregal  Lodge  where  he  had — 
but  only  the  Haverley  girl  knows  what  Bobby 
had  said  or  how  many  waltzes  he  had  claimed 
for  the  next  ball.  Six  in  the  morning  saw 
Bobby  at  the  Tonga  Office  in  the  drenching 
rain,  the  whirl  of  the  last  waltz  still  in  his  ears, 
and  an  intoxication  due  neither  to  wine  nor 
waltzing  in  his  brain. 

"Good  man!"  shouted  Deighton  of  the 
Horse  Battery,  through  the  mists.  "Whar  you 
raise  dat  tonga?  I'm  coming  with  you.  Ow! 
But  I've  a  head  and  a  half.  I  didn't  sit  out  all 


148  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

night.     They  say  the  Battery's  awful  bad," 
and  he  hummed  dolorously — 


"Leave  the  what  at  the  what's-its-name, 
Leave  the  flock  without  shelter, 
Leave  the  corpse  uninterred. 
Leave  the  bride  at  the  altar ! 


"My  faith!  I'll  be  more  bally  corpse  than 
bride,  though,  this  journey.  Jump  in,  Bobby. 
Get  on,  Coachwan!" 

On  the  umbrella  platform  waited  a  detach- 
ment of  officers  discussing  the  latest  news 
from  the  stricken  cantonment,  and  it  was  here 
that  Bobby  learned  the  real  condition  of  the 
Tail  Twisters. 

"They  went  into  camp,"  said  an  elderly 
Major  recalled  from  the  whist-tables  at  Mus- 
soorie  to  a  sickly  Native  Regiment,  "they  went 
into  camp  with  two  hundred  and  ten  sick  in 
carts.  Two  hundred  and  ten  fever  cases  only, 
and  the  balance  looking  like  so  many  ghosts 
with  sore  eyes.  A  Madras  Regiment  could 
have  walked  through  'em." 

"But  they  were  as  fit  as  be-damned  when  I 
left  them !"  said  Bobby. 

"Then  you'd  better  make  them  as  fit  as  be- 
damned  when  you  rejoin,"  said  the  Major, 
brutally. 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN  149 

Bobby  pressed  his  forehead  against  the  rain- 
splashed  windowpane  as  the  train  lumbered 
across  the  sodden  Doab,  and  prayed  for  the 
health  of  the  Tyneside  Tail  Twisters.  Naini 
Tal  had  sent  down  her  contingent  with  all 
speed;  the  lathering  ponies  of  the  Dalhousie 
Road  staggered  into  Pathankot,  taxed  to  the 
full  stretch  of  their  strength;  while  from 
cloudy  Darjiling  the  Calcutta  Mail  whirled  up 
the  last  straggler  of  the  little  army  that  was  to 
fight  a  fight,  in  which  was  neither  medal  nor 
honor  for  the  winning,  against  an  enemy  none 
other  than  "the  sickness  that  destroyeth  in  the 
noonday." 

And  as  each  man  reported  himself,  he  said : 
"This  is  a  bad  business,"  and  went  about  his 
own  forthwith,  for  every  Regiment  and  Bat- 
tery in  the  cantonment  was  under  canvas,  the 
sickness  bearing  them  company. 

Bobby  fought  his  way  through  the  rain  to 
the  Tail  Twisters'  temporary  mess,  and  Re- 
vere could  have  fallen  on  the  boy's  neck  for  the 
joy  of  seeing  that  ugly,  wholesome  phiz  once 
more. 

"Keep  'em  amused  and  interested,"  said  Re- 
vere. "They  went  on  the  drink,  poor  fools, 
after  the  first  two  cases,  and  there  was  no  im- 
provement. Oh,  it's  good  to  have  you  back, 
Bobby !  Porkiss  is  a — never  mind." 


150  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

Deighton  came  over  from  the  Artillery 
camp  to  attend  a  dreary  mess  dinner,  and  con- 
tributed to  the  general  gloom  by  nearly  weep- 
ing over  the  condition  of  his  beloved  Battery. 
Porkiss  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  insinuate 
that  the  presence  of  the  officers  could  do  no 
earthly  good,  and  that  the  best  thing  would 
be  to  send  the  entire  Regiment  into  hospital 
and  "let  the  doctors  look  after  them."  Por- 
kiss was  demoralized  with  fear,  nor  was  his 
peace  of  mind  restored  when  Revere  said 
coldly :  "Oh !  The  sooner  you  go  out  the  bet- 
ter, if  that's  your  way  of  thinking.  Any  pub- 
lic school  could  send  us  fifty  good  men  in  your 
place,  but  it  takes  time,  time,  Porkiss,  and 
money,  and  a  certain  amount  of  trouble,  to 
make  a  Regiment.  'S'pose  you're  the  person 
we  go  into  camp  for,  eh?" 

Whereupon  Porkiss  was  overtaken  with  a 
great  and  chilly  fear  which  a  drenching  in  the 
rain  did  not  allay,  and,  two  days  later,  quitted 
this  world  for  another  where,  men  do  fondly 
hope,  allowances  are  made  for  the  weaknesses 
of  the  flesh.  The  Regimental  Sergeant-Major 
looked  wearily  across  the  Sergeants'  Mess 
tent  when  the  news  was  announced. 

"There  goes  the  worst  of  them,"  he  said. 
"It'll  take  the  best,  and  then,  please  God,  it'll 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 


stop."  The  Sergeants  were  silent  till  one 
said:  "It  couldn't  be  him!"  and  all  knew  of 
whom  Travis  was  thinking. 

Bobby  Wick  stormed  through  the  tents  of 
his  Company,  rallying,  rebuking,  mildly,  as  is 
consistent  with  the  Regulations,  chaffing  the 
faint-hearted;  haling  the  sound  into  the 
watery  sunlight  when  there  was  a  break  in  the 
weather,  and  bidding  them  be  of  good  cheer 
for  their  trouble  was  nearly  at  an  end;  scut- 
tling on  his  dun  pony  round  the  outskirts  of 
the  camp  and  heading  back  men  who,  with  the 
innate  perversity  of  British  soldiers,  were  al- 
ways wandering  into  infected  villages,  or 
drinking  deeply  from  rain-flooded  marshes; 
comforting  the  panic-stricken  with  rude 
speech,  and  more  than  once  tending  the  dying 
who  had  no  friends  —  the  men  without 
"townies"  ;  organizing,  with  banjos  and 
burned  cork,  Sing-songs  which  should  allow 
the  talent  of  the  Regiment  full  play;  and  gen- 
erally, as  he  explained,  "playing  the  giddy 
garden-goat  all  round." 

"You're  worth  a  half  a  dozen  of  us,  Bobby," 
said  Revere  in  a  moment  of  enthusiasm. 
"How  the  devil  do  you  keep  it  up?" 

Bobby  made  no  answer,  but  had  Revere 
looked  into  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat  he 


152  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

might  have  seen  there  a  sheaf  of  badly-written 
letters  which  perhaps  accounted  for  the  power 
that  possessed  the  boy.  A  letter  came  to 
Bobby  every  other  day.  The  spelling  was  not 
above  reproach,  but  the  sentiments  must  have 
been  most  satisfactory,  for  on  receipt  Bobby's 
eyes  softened  marvelously,  and  he  was  wont 
to  fall  into  a  tender  abstraction  for  a  while 
ere,  shaking  his  cropped  head,  he  charged  into 
his  work. 

By  what  power  he  drew  after  him  the  hearts 
of  the  roughest,  and  the  Tail  Twisters  counted 
in  their  ranks  some  rough  diamonds  indeed, 
was  a  mystery  to  both  skipper  and  C.  O.,  who 
learned  from  the  regimental  chaplain  that 
Bobby  was  considerably  more  in  request  in 
the  hospital  tents  than  the  Reverend  John 
Emery. 

"The  men  seem  fond  of  you.  Are  you  in 
the  hospitals  much  ?"  said  the  Colonel,  who  did 
his  daily  round  and  ordered  the  men  to  get 
well  with  a  hardness  that  did  not  cover  his 
bitter  grief. 

"A  little,  sir,"  said  Bobby. 

"Shouldn't  go  there  too  often  if  I  were  you. 
They  say  it's  not  contagious,  but  there's  no 
use  in  running  unnecessary  risks.  We  can't 
afford  to  have  you  down,  y'  know." 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN  153 

Six  days  later,  it  was  with  the  utmost  diffi- 
culty that  the  post-runner  plashed  his  way  out 
to  the  camp  with  the  mail-bags,  for  the  rain 
was  falling  in  torrents.  Bobby  received  a  let- 
ter, bore  it  off  to  his  tent,  and,  the  programme 
for  the  next  week's  Sing-song  being  satisfac- 
torily disposed  of,  sat  down  to  answer  it.  For 
an  hour  the  unhandy  pen  toiled  over  the  paper, 
and  where  sentiment  rose  to  more  than  normal 
tide-level,  Bobby  Wick  stuck  out  his  tongue 
and  breathed  heavily.  He  was  not  used  to  let- 
ter-writing. 

"Beg  y'  pardon,  sir,"  said  a  voice  at  the  tent 
door;  "but  Dormer's  'orrid  bad,  sir,  an' 
they've  taken  him  orf,  sir." 

"Damn  Private  Dormer  and  you  too !"  said 
Bobby  Wick,  running  the  blotter  over  the  half- 
finished  letter.  "Tell  him  I'll  come  in  the 
morning." 

"  'E's  awful  bad,  sir,"  said  the  voice,  hesi- 
tatingly. There  was  an  undecided  squelching 
of  heavy  boots. 

"Well?"  said  Bobby,  impatiently. 

"Excusin5  'imself  before'and  for  takin'  the 
liberty,  'e  says  it  would  be  a  comfort  for  to  as- 
sist 'im,  sir,  if" — 

"Tattoo  lao!  Get  my  pony!  Here,  come  in 
out  of  the  rain  till  I'm  ready.  What  blasted 


154  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

nuisances  you  are!  That's  brandy.  Drink 
some;  you  want  it.  Hang  on  to  my  stirrup 
and  tell  me  if  I  go  too  fast." 

Strengthened  by  a  four-finger  "nip"  which 
he  swallowed  without  a  wink,  the  Hospital  Or- 
derly kept  up  with  the  slipping,  mud-stained, 
and  very  disgusted  pony  as  it  shambled  to  the 
hospital  tent. 

Private  Dormer  was  certainly  "  'orrid  bad." 
He  had  all  but  reached  the  stage  of  collapse 
and  was  not  pleasant  to  look  upon. 

"What's  this,  Dormer?"  said  Bobby,  bend- 
ing over  the  man.  "You're  not  going  out  this 
time.  You've  got  to  come  fishing  with  me 
once  or  twice  more  yet." 

The  blue  lips  parted  and  in  the  ghost  of  a 
whisper  said — "Beg  y'  pardon,  sir,  disturbin' 
of  you  now,  but  would  you  min'  'oldin'  my 
'and,  sir?" 

Bobby  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  the  icy 
cold  hand  closed  on  his  own  like  a  vice,  forc- 
ing a  lady's  ring  which  was  on  the  little  finger 
deep  into  the  flesh.  Bobby  set  his  lips  and 
waited,  the  water  dripping  from  the  hem  of 
his  trousers.  An  hour  passed  and  the  grasp  of 
the  hand  did  not  relax,  nor  did  the  expression 
of  the  drawn  face  change.  Bobby  with  infinite 
craft  lit  himself  a  cheroot  with  the  left  hand, 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN  155 

his  right  arm  was  numbed  to  the  elbow,  and 
resigned  himself  to  a  night  of  pain. 

Dawn  showed  a  very  white-faced  Subaltern 
sitting  on  the  side  of  a  sick  man's  cot,  and  a 
Doctor  in  the  doorway  using  language  unfit 
for  publication. 

"Have  you  been  here  all  night,  you  young 
ass?"  said  the  Doctor. 

"There  or  thereabouts,"  said  Bobby,  rue- 
fully. "He's  frozen  on  to  me." 

Dormer's  mouth  shut  with  a  click.  He 
turned  his  head  and  sighed.  The  clinging 
hand  opened,  and  Bobby's  arm  fell  useless  at 
his  side. 

"He'll  do,"  said  the  Doctor,  quietly.  "It 
must  have  been  a  toss-up  all  through  the  night. 
'Think  you're  to  be  congratulated  on  this 
case." 

"Oh,  bosh!"  said  Bobby.  "I  thought  the 
man  had  gone  out  long  ago — only — only  I 
didn't  care  to  take  my  hand  away.  Rub  my 
arm  down,  there's  a  good  chap.  What  a  grip 
the  brute  has!  I'm  chilled  to  the  marrow!" 
He  passed  out  of  the  tent  shivering. 

Private  Dormer  was  allowed  to  celebrate  his 
repulse  of  Death  by  strong  waters.  Four  days 
later,  he  sat  on  the  side  of  his  cot  and  said  to 
the  patients  mildly :  "I'd  'a'  liken  to  'a'  spoken 
to  'im — so  I  should." 


156  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

But  at  that  time  Bobby  was  reading  yet  an- 
other letter — he  had  the  most  persistent  corre- 
spondent of  any  man  in  camp — and  was  even 
then  about  to  write  that  the  sickness  had 
abated,  and  in  another  week  at  the  outside 
would  be  gone.  He  did  not  intend  to  say  that 
the  chill  of  a  sick  man's  hand  seemed  to  have 
struck  into  the  heart  whose  capacities  for  af- 
fection he  dwelt  on  at  such  length.  He  did  in- 
tend to  enclose  the  illustrated  programme  of 
the  forthcoming  Sing-song  whereof  he  was 
not  a  little  proud.  He  also  intended  to  write 
on  many  other  matters  which  do  not  concern 
us,  and  doubtless  would  have  done  so  but  for 
the  slight  feverish  headache  which  made  him 
dull  and  unresponsive  at  mess. 

"You  are  overdoing  it,  Bobby,"  said  his 
skipper.  "  'Might  give  the  rest  of  us  credit  of 
doing  a  little  work.  You  go  on  as  if  you  were 
the  whole  Mess  rolled  into  one.  Take  it  easy." 

"I  will,"  said  Bobby.  "I'm  feeling  done  up, 
somehow."  Revere  looked  at  him  anxiously 
and  said  nothing. 

There  was  a  flickering  of  lanterns  about  the 
camp  that  night,  and  a  rumor  that  brought 
men  out  of  their  cots  to  the  tent  doors,  pad- 
dling of  the  naked  feet  of  doolie-bearers  and 
the  rush  of  a  galloping  horse. 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN  157 

"Wot's  up?"  asked  twenty  tents;  and 
through  twenty  tents  ran  the  answer — "Wick, 
'e's  down." 

They  brought  the  news  to  Revere  and  he 
groaned.  "Any  one  but  Bobby  and  I  shouldn't 
have  cared!  The  Sergeant-Major  was  right." 

"Not  going  out  this  journey,"  gasped 
Bobby,  as  he  was  lifted  from  the  doolie.  "Not 
going  out  this  journey."  Then  with  an  air  of 
supreme  conviction — "I  can't,  you  see." 

"Not  if  I  can  do  anything!"  said  the  Sur- 
geon-Major, who  had  hastened  over  from  the 
mess  where  he  had  been  dining. 

He  and  the  Regimental  Surgeon  fought  to- 
gether with  Death  for  the  life  of  Bobby  Wick. 
Their  work  was  interrupted  by  a  hairy  appari- 
tion in  a  blue-grey  dressing-gown  who  stared 
in  horror  at  the  bed  and  cried — "Oh,  my 
Gawd!  It  can't  be  'im!"  until  an  indignant 
Hospital  Orderly  whisked  him  away. 

If  care  of  man  and  a  desire  to  live  could 
have  done  aught,  Bobby  would  have  been 
saved.  As  it  was,  he  made  a  fight  of  three 
days,  and  the  Surgeon-Major's  brow  uncreased. 
"We'll  save  him  yet,"  he  said;  and  the  Sur- 
geon, who,  though  he  ranked  with  the  Captain, 
had  a  very  youthful  heart,  went  out  upon  the 
word  and  pranced  joyously  in  the  mud. 


158  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

"Not  going  out  this  journey,"  whispered 
Bobby  Wick,  gallantly,  at  the  end  of  the  third 
day. 

"Bravo!"  said  the  Surgeon-Major.  "That's 
the  way  to  look  at  it,  Bobby." 

As  evening  fell  a  grey  shade  gathered  round 
Bobby's  mouth,  and  he  turned  his  face  to  the 
tent  wall  wearily.  The  Surgeon-Major 
frowned. 

"I'm  awfully  tired,"  said  Bobby,  very 
faintly.  "What's  the  use  of  bothering  me  with 
medicine?  I — don't — want — it.  Let  me 
alone." 

The  desire  for  life  had  departed,  and  Bobby 
was  content  to  drift  away  on  the  easy  tide  of 
Death. 

"It's  no  good,"  said  the  Surgeon-Major. 
"He  doesn't  want  to  live.  He's  meeting  it, 
poor  child."  And  he  blew  his  nose. 

Half  a  mile  away,  the  regimental  band  was 
playing  the  overture  to  the  Sing-song,  for  the 
men  had  been  told  that  Bobby  was  out  of  dan- 
ger. The  clash  of  the  brass  and  the  wail  of  the 
horns  reached  Bobby's  ears. 

Is  there  a  single  joy  or  pain 
That  I  should  never  kno-ow? 
You  do  not  love  me,  'tis  in  vain, 
Bid  me  good-bye  and  go ! 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN  159 

An  expression  of  hopeless  irritation  crossed 
the  boy's  face,  and  he  tried  to  shake  his  head. 

The  Surgeon-Major  bent  down — "What  is 
it?  Bobby?"— "Not  that  waltz,"  muttered 
Bobby.  "That's  our  own — our  very  ownest 
own.  .  .  .  Mummy  dear." 

With  this  he  sank  into  the  stupor  that  gave 
place  to  death  early  next  morning. 

Revere,  his  eyes  red  at  the  rims  and  his  nose 
very  white,  went  into  Bobby's  tent  to  write  a 
letter  to  Papa  Wick  which  should  bow  the 
white  head  of  the  ex-Commissioner  of  Chota- 
Bnlclana  in  the  keenest  sorrow  of  his  life. 
Bobby's  little  store  of  papers  lay  in  confusion 
on  the  table,  and  among  them  a  half-finished 
letter.  The  last  sentence  ran:  "So  you  see, 
darling,  there  is  really  no  fear,  because  as  long 
as  I  know  you  care  for  me  and  I  care  for  you, 
nothing  can  touch  me." 

Revere  stayed  in  the  tent  for  an  hour. 
When  he  came  out  his  eyes  were  redder  than 
ever. 


Private  Conklin  sat  on  a  turned-down 
bucket,  and  listened  to  a  not  unfamiliar  tune. 
Private  Conklin  was  a  convalescent  and  should 
have  been  tenderly  treated. 


I6o  ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

"Ho!"  said  Private  Conklin.  "There's  an- 
other  bloomin'  orfcer  da — ed." 

The  bucket  shot  from  under  him,  and  his 
eyes  filled  with  a  smythyful  of  sparks.  A  tall 
man  in  a  blue-grey  bedgown  was  regarding 
him  with  deep  disfavor. 

"You  ought  to  take  shame  for  yourself, 
Conky !  Orfcer — bloomin'  orfcer  ?  I'll  learn 
you  to  misname  the  likes  of  'im.  Hangel! 
Bloomin'  Hangel!  That's  wot  'e  is!" 

And  the  Hospital  Orderly  was  so  satisfied 
with  the  justice  of  the  punishment  that  he  did 
not  even  order  Private  Dormer  back  to  his 
cot 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  A  PRIVATE. 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  A  PRIVATE 

Hurrah !  hurrah !  a  soldier's  life  for  me ! 
Shout,  boys,  shout !  for  it  makes  you  jolly  and  free. 

— The  Ramrod  Corps. 

PEOPLE  who  have  seen,  say  that  one  of 
the  quaintest  spectacles  of  human  frailty 
is  an  outbreak  of  hysterics  in  a  girls'  school. 
It  starts  without  warning,  generally  on  a  hot 
afternoon,  among  the  elder  pupils.  A  girl  gig- 
gles till  the  giggle  gets  beyond  control.  Then 
she  throws  up  her  head,  and  cries,  "Honk, 
honk,  honk,"  like  a  wild  goose,  and  tears  mix 
with  the  laughter.  If  the  mistress  be  wise,  she 
will  rap  out  something  severe  at  this  point  to 
check  matters.  If  she  be  tender-hearted,  and 
send  for  a  drink  of  water,  the  chances  are 
largely  in  favor  of  another  girl  laughing  at  the 
afflicted  one  and  herself  collapsing.  Thus  the 
trouble  spreads,  and  may  end  in  half  of  what 
answers  to  the  Lower  Sixth  of  a  boys'  school 
rocking  and  whooping  together.  Given  a 
week  of  warm  weather,  two  stately  prome- 
nades per  diem,  a  heavy  mutton  and  rice  meal 
163 


1 64  IN  THE  MATTER 

in  the  middle  of  the  day,  a  certain  amount  of 
nagging  from  the  teachers,  and  a  few  other 
things,  some  amazing  effects  develop.  At 
least,  this  is  what  folk  say  who  have  had  ex- 
perience. 

Now,  the  Mother  Superior  of  a  Convent 
and  the  Colonel  of  a  British  Infantry  Regi- 
ment would  be  justly  shocked  at  any  compari- 
son being  made  between  their  respective 
charges.  But  it  is  a  fact  that,  under  certain 
circumstances,  Thomas  in  bulk  can  be  worked 
up  into  dithering,  rippling  hysteria.  He  does 
not  weep,  but  he  shows  his  trouble  unmistak- 
ably, and  the  consequences  get  into  the  news- 
papers, and  all  the  good  people  who  hardly 
know  a  Martini  from  a  Snider  say:  "Take 
away  the  brute's  ammunition!" 

Thomas  isn't  a  brute,  and  his  business, 
which  is  to  look  after  the  virtuous  people,  de- 
mands that  he  shall  have  his  ammunition  to 
his  hand-  He  doesn't  wear  silk  stockings,  and 
he  really  ought  to  be  supplied  with  a  new  Ad- 
jective to  help  him  to  express  his  opinions :  but, 
for  all  that,  he  is  a  great  man.  If  you  call  him 
"the  heroic  defender  of  the  national  honor"  one 
day,  and  "a  brutal  and  licentious  soldiery"  the 
next,  you  naturally  bewilder  him,  and  he  looks 
upon  you  with  suspicion.  There  is  nobody  to 


OF  A  PRIVATE  165 

speak  for  Thomas  except  people  who  have 
theories  to  work  off  on  him;  and  nobody  un- 
derstands Thomas  except  Thomas,  and  he  does 
not  always  know  what  is  the  matter  with  him- 
self. 

That  is  the  prologue.  This  is  the  story : 
Corporal  Slane  was  engaged  to  be  married 
to  Miss  Jhansi  M'Kenna,  whose  history  is 
well  known  in  the  regiment  and  elsewhere. 
He  had  his  Colonel's  permission,  and,  being 
popular  with  the  men,  every  arrangement  had 
been  made  to  give  the  wedding  what  Private 
Ortheris  called  "eeklar."  It  fell  in  the  heart 
of  the  hot  weather,  and,  after  the  wedding, 
Slane  was  going  up  to  the  Hills  with  the  bride. 
None  the  less,  Slane's  grievance  was  that  the 
affair  would  be  only  a  hired-carriage  wedding, 
and  he  felt  that  the  "eeklar"  of  that  was 
meagre.  Miss  M'Kenna  did  not  care  so  much. 
The  Sergeant's  wife  was  helping  her  to  make 
her  wedding  dress,  and  she  was  very  busy. 
Slane  was,  just  then,  the  only  moderately  con- 
tented man  in  barracks.  All  the  rest  were 
more  or  less  miserable. 

And  they  had  so  much  to  make  them  happy, 
too.  All  their  work  was  over  at  eight  in  the 
morning,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  day  they  could 
lie  on  their  backs  and  smoke  Canteen-plug  and 


1 66  IN  THE  MATTER 

swear  at  the  punkah-coolies.  They  enjoyed  a 
fine,  full  flesh  meal  in  the  middle  of  the  day, 
and  then  threw  themselves  down  on  their  cots 
and  sweated  and  slept  till  it  was  cool  enough 
to  go  out  with  their  "towny,"  whose  vocabu- 
lary contained  less  than  six  hundred  words, 
and  the  Adjective,  and  whose  views  on  every 
conceivable  question  they  had  heard  many 
times  before. 

There  was  the  Canteen,  of  course,  and  there 
was  the  Temperance  Room  with  the  second- 
hand papers  in  it ;  but  a  man  of  any  profession 
cannot  read  for  eight  hours  a  day  in  a  temper- 
ature of  96°  or  98°  in  the  shade,  running  up 
sometimes  to  103°  at  midnight.  Very  few 
men,  even  though  they  get  a  pannikin  of  flat, 
stale,  muddy  beer  and  hide  it  under  their  cots, 
can  continue  drinking  for  six  hours  a  day. 
One  man  tried,  but  he  died,  and  nearly  the 
whole  regiment  went  to  his  funeral  because  it 
gave  them  something  to  do.  It  was  too  early 
for  the  excitement  of  fever  or  cholera.  The 
men  could  only  wait  and  wait  and  wait,  and 
watch  the  shadow  of  the  barrack  creeping 
across  the  blinding  white  dust.  That  was  a 
gay  life. 

They  lounged  about  cantonments — it  was 
too  hot  for  any  sort  of  game,  and  almost  too 


OF  A  PRIVATE  167 

hot  for  vice — and  fuddled  themselves  in  the 
evening,  and  filled  themselves  to  distension 
with  the  healthy  nitrogenous  food  provided 
for  them,  and  the  more  they  stoked  the  less  ex- 
ercise they  took  and  more  explosive  they  grew. 
Then  tempers  began  to  wear  away,  and  men 
fell  a-brooding  over  insults  real  or  imaginary, 
for  they  had  nothing  else  to  think  of.  The 
tone  of  the  repartees  changed,  and  instead  of 
saying  light-heartedly:  "I'll  knock  your  silly 
face  in,"  men  grew  laboriously  polite  and 
hinted  that  the  cantonments  were  not  big 
enough  for  themselves  and  their  enemy,  and 
that  there  would  be  more  space  for  one  of  the 
two  in  another  Place. 

It  may  have  been  the  Devil  who  arranged 
the  thing,  but  the  fact  of  the  case  is  that  Los- 
son  had  for  a  long  time  been  worrying  Sim- 
mons in  an  aimless  way.  It  gave  him  occupa- 
tion. The  two  had  their  cots  side  by  side,  and 
would  sometimes  spend  a  long  afternoon 
swearing  at  each  other;  but  Simmons  was 
afraid  of  Losson  and  dared  not  challenge  him 
to  a  fight.  He  thought  over  the  words  in  the 
hot  still  nights,  and  half  the  hate  he  felt 
toward  Losson  he  vented  on  the  wretched  pun- 
kah-coolie. 

Losson  bought  a  parrot  in  the  bazar,  and 


1 68  IN  THE  MATTER 

put  it  into  a  little  cage,  and  lowered  the  cage 
into  the  cool  darkness  of  a  well,  and  sat  on 
the  well-curb,  shouting  bad  language  down  to 
the  parrot.  He  taught  it  to  say:  "Simmons, 
ye  so-oor"  which  means  swine,  and  several 
other  things  entirely  unfit  for  publication. 
He  was  a  big  gross  man,  and  he  shook  like  a 
jelly  when  the  parrot  had  the  sentence  cor- 
rectly. Simmons,  however,  shook  with  rage, 
for  all  the  room  were  laughing  at  him — the 
parrot  was  such  a  disreputable  puff  of  green 
feathers  and  it  looked  so  human  when  it  chat- 
tered. Losson  used  to  sit,  swinging  his  fat 
legs,  on  the  side  of  the  cot,  and  ask  the  parrot 
what  it  thought  of  Simmons.  The  parrot 
would  answer :  "Simmons,  ye  so-oor."  "Good 
boy,"  Losson  used  to  say,  scratching  the  par- 
rot's head;  "ye  'ear  that,  Sim?"  And  Sim- 
mons used  to  turn  over  on  his  stomach  and 
make  answer:  "I  'ear.  Take  'eed  you  don't 
'ear  something  one  of  these  days." 

In  the  restless  nights,  after  he  had  been 
asleep  all  day,  fits  of  blind  rage  came  upon 
Simmons  and  held  him  till  he  trembled  all 
over,  while  he  thought  in  how  many  different 
ways  he  would  slay  Losson.  Sometimes  he 
would  picture  himself  trampling  the  life  out 
of  the  man,  with  heavy  ammunition-boots,  and 


at  others  smashing  in  his  face  with  the  butt, 
and  at  others  jumping  on  his  shoulders  and 
dragging  the  head  back  till  the  neckbone 
cracked.  Then  his  mouth  would  feel  hot  and 
fevered,  and  he  would  reach  out  for  another 
sup  of  the  beer  in  the  pannikin. 

But  the  fancy  that  came  to  him  most  fre- 
quently and  stayed  with  him  longest  was  one 
connected  with  the  great  roll  of  fat  under  Los- 
son's  right  ear.  He  noticed  it  first  on  a  moon- 
light night,  and  thereafter  it  was  always  be- 
fore his  eyes.  It  was  a  fascinating  roll  of  fat. 
A  man  could  get  his  hand  upon  it  and  tear 
away  one  side  of  the  neck;  or  he  could  place 
the  muzzle  of  a  rifle  on  it  and  blow  away  all 
the  head  in  a  flash.  Losson  had  no  right  to  be 
sleek  and  contented  and  well-to-do,  when  he, 
Simmons,  was  the  butt  of  the  room.  Some 
day,  perhaps,  he  would  show  those  who 
laughed  at  the  "Simmons,  ye  so-oor"  joke, 
that  he  was  as  good  as  the  rest,  and  held 
a  man's  life  in  the  crook  of  his  forefinger. 
When  Losson  snored,  Simmons  hated  him 
more  bitterly  than  ever.  Why  should  Losson 
be  able  to  sleep  when  Simmons  had  to  stay 
awake  hour  after  hour,  tossing  and  turning  on 
the  tapes,  with  the  dull  liver  pain  gnawing  into 
his  right  side  and  his  head  throbbing  and  ach- 


1 70  IN  THE  MATTER 

ing  after  Canteen?  He  thought  over  this  for 
many  many  nights,  and  the  world  became  un- 
profitable to  him.  He  even  blunted  his  natur- 
ally fine  appetite  with  beer  and  tobacco ;  and  all 
the  while  the  parrot  talked  at  and  made  a  mock 
of  him. 

The  heat  continued  and  the  tempers  wore 
away  more  quickly  than  before.  A  Sergeant's 
wife  died  of  heat-apoplexy  in  the  night,  and 
the  rumor  ran  abroad  that  it  was  cholera. 
Men  rejoiced  openly,  hoping  that  it  would 
spread  and  send  them  into  camp.  But  that 
was  a  false  alarm. 

It  was  late  on  a  Tuesday  evening,  and  the 
men  were  waiting  in  the  deep  double  verandas 
for  "Last  Posts,"  when  Simmons  went  to  the 
box  at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  took  out  his  pipe, 
and  slammed  the  lid  down  with  a  bang  that 
echoed  through  the  deserted  barrack  like  the 
crack  of  a  rifle.  Ordinarily  speaking,  the 
men  would  have  taken  no  notice;  but  their 
nerves  were  fretted  to  fiddle-strings.  They 
jumped  up,  and  three  or  four  clattered  into 
the  barrack-room  only  to  find  Simmons  kneel- 
ing by  his  box. 

"Ow!  It's  you,  is  it?"  they  said  and 
laughed  foolishly.  "We  thought  'twas" — 

Simmons  rose  slowly.     If  the  accident  had 


OF  A  PRIVATE  171 

so  shaken  his  fellows,  what  would  not  the  real- 
ity do? 

"You  thought  it  was — did  you?  And  what 
makes  you  think?"  he  said,  lashing  himself 
into  madness  as  he  went  on;  "to  Hell  with 
your  thinking,  ye  dirty  spies." 

"Simmons,  ye  so-oor/'  chuckled  the  parrot 
in  the  veranda,  sleepily,  recognizing  a  well- 
known  voice.  Now  that  was  absolutely  all. 

The  tension  snapped.  Simmons  fell  back 
on  the  arm-rack  deliberately, — the  men  were 
at  the  far  end  of  the  room, — and  took  out  his 
rifle  and  packet  of  ammunition.  "Don't  go 
playing  the  goat,  Sim!"  said  Losson.  "Put 
it  down,"  but  there  was  a  quaver  in  his  voice. 
Another  man  stooped,  slipped  his  boot  and 
hurled  it  at  Simmons's  head.  The  prompt  an- 
swer was  a  shot  which,  fired  at  random,  found 
its  billet  in  Lesson's  throat.  Losson  fell  for- 
ward without  a  word,  and  the  others  scattered. 

"You  thought  it  was!"  yelled  Simmons. 
"You're  drivin'  me  to  it!  I  tell  you  you're 
drivin'  me  to  it!  Get  up,  Losson,  an'  don't  lie 
shammin'  there — you  an'  your  blasted  parrit 
that  druv  me  to  it!" 

But  there  was  an  unaffected  reality  about 
Losson's  pose  that  showed  Simmons  what  he 
had  done.  The  men  were  still  clamoring  in 


172  IN  THE  MATTER 

the  veranda.  Simmons  appropriated  two 
more  packets  of  ammunition  and  ran  into  the 
moonlight,  muttering :  "I'll  make  a  night  of  it. 
Thirty  roun's,  an'  the  last  for  myself.  Take 
you  that,  you  dogs !" 

He  dropped  on  one  knee  and  fired  into  the 
brown  of  the  men  on  the  veranda,  but  the  bul- 
let flew  high,  and  landed  in  the  brickwork  with 
a  vicious  pwhit  that  made  some  of  the  younger 
ones  turn  pale.  It  is,  as  musketry  theorists 
observe,  one  thing  to  fire  and  another  to  be 
fired  at. 

Then  the  instinct  of  the  chase  flared  up. 
The  news  spread  from  barrack  to  barrack,  and 
the  men  doubled  out  intent  on  the  capture  of 
Simmons,  the  wild  beast,  who  was  heading  for 
the  Cavalry  parade-ground,  stopping  now  and 
again  to  send  back  a  shot  and  a  curse  in  the  di- 
rection of  his  pursuers. 

"I'll  learn  you  to  spy  on  me!"  he  shouted; 
"I'll  learn  you  to  give  me  dorg's  names !  Come 
on  the  'ole  lot  o'  you !  Colonel  John  Anthony 
Deever,  C.B. !" — he  turned  toward  the  Infan- 
try Mess  and  shook  his  rifle — "you  think 
yourself  the  devil  of  a  man — but  I  tell  you  that 
if  you  put  your  ugly  old  carcass  outside  o'  that 
door,  I'll  make  you  the  poorest-lookin'  man  in 
the  army.  Come  out,  Colonel  John  Anthony 


OF  A  PRIVATE  173 

Deever,  C.B. !  Come  out  and  see  me  practiss 
on  the  rainge.  I'm  the  crack  shot  of  the  'ole 
bloomin'  battalion."  In  proof  of  which  state- 
ment Simmons  fired  at  the  lighted  windows  of 
the  mess-house. 

"Private  Simmons,  E  Comp'ny,  on  the  Cav- 
alry p'rade-ground,  Sir,  with  thirty  rounds," 
said  a  Sergeant  breathlessly  to  the  Colonel. 
"Shootin'  right  and  lef,  Sir.  Shot  Private 
Losson.  What's  to  be  done,  Sir  ?" 

Colonel  John  Anthony  Deever,  C.B.,  sallied 
out,  only  to  be  saluted  by  a  spurt  of  dust  at 
his  feet. 

"Pull  up !"  said  the  Second  in  Command ;  "I 
don't  want  my  step  in  that  way,  Colonel.  He's 
as  dangerous  as  a  mad  dog." 

"Shoot  him  like  one,  then,"  said  the  Colonel, 
bitterly,  "if  he  won't  take  his  chance.  My 
regiment,  too!  If  it  had  been  the  Towheads 
I  could  have  understood." 

Private  Simmons  had  occupied  a  strong  po- 
sition near  a  well  on  the  edge  of  the  parade- 
ground,  and  was  defying  the  regiment  to  come 
on.  The  regiment  was  not  anxious  to  comply, 
for  there  is  small  honor  in  being  shot  by  a  fel- 
low-private. Only  Corporal  Slane,  rifle  in 
hand,  threw  himself  down  on  the  ground,  and 
wormed  his  way  toward  the  well. 


174  IN  THE  MATTER 

•"Don't  shoot,"  said  he  to  the  men  round 
him;  "like  as  not  you'll  'it  me.  I'll  catch  the 
beggar,  livin'." 

Simmons  ceased  shouting  for  a  while,  and 
the  noise  of  trap-wheels  could  be  heard  across 
the  plain.  Major  Oldyne,  Commanding  the 
Horse  Battery,  was  coming  back  from  a  dinner 
in  the  Civil  Lines ;  was  driving  after  his  usual 
custom — that  is  to  say,  as  fast  as  the  horse 
could  go. 

"A  orf'cer!  A  blooming  spangled  orf'cer!" 
shrieked  Simmons;  "I'll  make  a  scarecrow  of 
that  orf'cer!"  The  trap  stopped. 

"What's  this?"  demanded  the  Major  of 
Gunners.  "You  there,  drop  your  rifle." 

"Why,  it's  Jerry  Blazes!  I  ain't  got  no 
quarrel  with  you,  Jerry  Blazes.  Pass  frien', 
an'  all's  well!" 

But  Jerry  Blazes  had  not  the  faintest  inten- 
tion of  passing  a  dangerous  murderer.  He 
was,  as  his  adoring  Battery  swore  long  and 
fervently,  without  knowledge  of  fear,  and  they 
were  surely  the  best  judges,  for  Jerry  Blazes, 
it  was  notorious,  had  done  his  possible  to  kill 
a  man  each  time  the  Battery  went  out. 

He  walked  toward  Simmons,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  rushing  him,  and  knocking  him  down. 
"Don't  make  me  do  it,  Sir,"  said  Simmons ; 


OF  A  PRIVATE  175 

"I  ain't  got  nothing  agin  you.  Ah!  you 
would?" — the  Major  broke  into  a  run — "Take 
that  then!" 

The  Major  dropped  with  a  bullet  through 
his  shoulder,  and  Simmons  stood  over  him. 
He  had  lost  the  satisfaction  of  killing  Losson 
in  the  desired  way:  but  here  was  a  helpless 
body  to  his  hand.  Should  he  slip  in  another 
cartridge,  and  blow  off  the  head,  or  with  the 
butt  smash  in  the  white  face?  He  stopped  to 
consider,  and  a  cry  went  up  from  the  far  side 
of  the  parade-ground:  "He's  killed  Jerry 
Blazes !"  But  in  the  shelter  of  the  well-pillars 
Simmons  was  safe,  except  when  he  stepped 
out  to  fire.  "I'll  blow  yer  'andsome  'ead  off, 
Jerry  Blazes,"  said  Simmons,  reflectively. 
"Six  an'  three  is  nine  an'  one  is  ten,  an'  that 
leaves  me  another  nineteen,  an'  one  for  my- 
self." He  tugged  at  the  string  of  the  second 
packet  of  ammunition.  Corporal  Slane 
crawled  out  of  the  shadow  of  a  bank  into  the 
moonlight. 

"I  see  you!"  said  Simmons.  "Come  a  bit 
furder  on  an'  I'll  do  for  you." 

"I'm  comin',"  said  Corporal  Slane,  briefly; 
"you've  done  a  bad  day's  work,  Sim.  Come 
out  'ere  an'  come  back  with  me." 

"Come  to," — laughed  Simmons,  sending  a 


I  ;6  IN  THE  MATTER 

cartridge  home  with  his  thumb.  "Not  before 
I've  settled  you  an'  Jerry  Blazes." 

The  Corporal  was  lying  at  full  length  in  the 
dust  of  the  parade-ground,  a  rifle  under  him. 
Some  of  the  less-cautious  men  in  the  distance 
shouted:  "Shoot  'im!  Shoot  'im,  Slane!" 

"You  move  'and  or  foot,  Slane,"  said  Sim- 
mons, "an'  I'll  kick  Jerry  Blazes'  'ead  in,  and 
shoot  you  after." 

"I  ain't  movin',"  said  the  Corporal,  raising 
his  head;  "you  daren't  'it  a  man  on  'is  legs. 
Let  go  o'  Jerry  Blazes  an'  come  out  o'  that 
with  your  fistes.  Come  an'  'it  me.  You 
daren't,  you  bloomin'  dog-shooter !" 

"I  dare." 

"You  lie,  you  man-sticker.  You  sneakin', 
Sheeny  butcher,  you  lie.  See  there!"  Slane 
kicked  the  rifle  away,  and  stood  up  in  the  peril 
of  his  life.  "Come  on,  now!" 

The  temptation  was  more  than  Simmons 
could  resist,  for  the  Corporal  in  his  white 
clothes  offered  a  perfect  mark. 

"Don't  misname  me,"  shouted  Simmons, 
firing  as  he  spoke.  The  shot  missed,  and  the 
shooter,  blind  with  rage,  threw  his  rifle  down 
and  rushed  at  Slane  from  the  protection  of  the 
well.  Within  striking  distance,  he  kicked 
savagely  at  Slane's  stomach,  but  the  weedy 


OF  A  PRIVATE  177 

Corporal  knew  something  of  Simmons's  weak- 
ness, and  knew,  too,  the  deadly  guard  for  that 
kick.  Bowing  forward  and  drawing  up  his 
right  leg  till  the  heel  of  the  right  foot  was  set 
some  three  inches  above  the  inside  of  the  left 
knee-cap,  he  met  the  blow  standing  on  one  leg 
— exactly  as  Gonds  stand  when  they  meditate 
— and  ready  for  the  fall  that  would  follow. 
There  was  an  oath,  the  Corporal  fell  over  to 
his  own  left  as  shinbone  met  shinbone,  and  the 
Private  collapsed,  his  right  leg  broken  an  inch 
above  the  ankle. 

"  'Pity  you  don't  know  that  guard,  Sim," 
said  Slane,  spitting  out  the  dust  as  he  rose. 
Then  raising  his  voice — "Come  an'  take  him 
orf.  I've  bruk  'is  leg."  This  was  not  strictly 
true,  for  the  Private  had  accomplished  his  own 
downfall,  since  it  is  the  special  merit  of  that 
leg-guard  that  the  harder  the  kick  the  greater 
the  kicker's  discomfiture. 

Slane  walked  to  Jerry  Blazes  and  hung  over 
him  with  ostentatious  anxiety,  while  Sim- 
mons, weeping  with  pain,  was  carried  away. 
"  'Ope  you  ain't  'urt  badly,  Sir,"  said  Slane. 
The  Major  had  fainted,  and  there  was  an 
ugly,  ragged  hole  through  the  top  of  his  arm. 
Slane  knelt  down  and  murmured:  "S'elp  me, 
I  believe  'e's  dead.  Well,  if  that  ain't  my 
blooming  luck  all  over !" 


178  IN  THE  MATTER 

But  the  Major  was  destined  to  lead  his  Bat- 
tery afield  for  many  a  long  day  with  unshaken 
nerve.  He  was  removed,  and  nursed  and 
petted  into  convalescence,  while  the  Battery 
discussed  the  wisdom  of  capturing  Simmons, 
and  blowing  him  from  a  gun.  They  idolized 
their  Major,  and  his  reappearance  on  parade 
brought  about  a  scene  nowhere  provided  for  in 
the  Army  Regulations. 

Great,  too,  was  the  glory  that  fell  to  Slane's 
share.  The  Gunners  would  have  made  him 
drunk  thrice  a  day  for  at  least  a  fortnight. 
Even  the  Colonel  of  his  own  regiment  compli- 
mented him  upon  his  coolness,  and  the  local 
paper  called  him  a  hero.  These  things  did  not 
puff  him  up.  When  the  Major  offered  him 
money  and  thanks,  the  virtuous  Corporal  took 
the  one  and  and  put  aside  the  other.  But  he 
had  a  request  to  make  and  prefaced  it  with 
many  a  "Beg  y'  pardon,  Sir."  Could  the 
Major  see  his  way  to  letting  the  Slane- 
M'Kenna  wedding  be  adorned  by  the  presence 
of  four  Battery  horses  to  pull  a  hired  ba- 
rouche? The  Major  could,  and  so  could  the 
Battery.  Excessively  so.  It  was  a  gorgeous 
wedding. 


OF  A  PRIVATE  179 

"Wot  did  I  do  it  for?"  said  Corporal  Slane. 
"For  the  'orses  o'  course.  Jhansi  ain't  a 
beauty  to  look  at,  but  I  wasn't  goin'  to  'ave  a 
hired  turnout.  Jerry  Blazes?  If  I  'adn't  'a' 
wanted  something,  Sim  might  ha'  blowed 
Jerry  Blazes'  blooming  'ead  into  Hirish  stew 
for  aught  I'd  'a'  cared." 

And  they  hanged  Private  Simmons — 
hanged  him  as  high  as  Haman  in  hollow 
square  of  the  regiment ;  and  the  Colonel  said  it 
was  Drink;  and  the  Chaplain  was  sure  it  was 
the  Devil ;  and  Simmons  fancied  it  was  both, 
but  he  didn't  know,  and  only  hoped  his  fate 
would  be  a  warning  to  his  companions;  and 
half  a  dozen  "intelligent  publicists"  wrote  six 
beautiful  leading  articles  on  "The  Prevalence 
of  Crime  in  the  Army." 

But  not  a  soul  thought  of  comparing  the 
"bloody-minded  Simmons"  to  the  squawking, 
gaping  schoolgirl  with  which  this  story  opens. 


THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS  OF 
PAGETT,  M.P. 


THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS  OF 
PAGETT,  M.P. 

"Because  half  a  dozen  grasshoppers  under  a  fern 
make  the  field  ring  with  their  importunate  chink  while 
thousands  of  great  cattle,  reposed  beneath  the  shadow 
of  the  British  oak,  chew  the  cud  and  are  silent,  pray  do 
not  imagine  that  those  who  make  the  noise  are  the  only 
inhabitants  of  the  field — that,  of  course,  they  are  many 
in  number — or  that,  after  all,  they  are  other  than  the 
little,  shrivelled,  meagre,  hopping,  though  loud  and 
troublesome  insects  of  the  hour." — Burke:  "Reflections 
on  the  Revolution  in  France." 

THEY  were  sitting  in  the  veranda  of  "the 
splendid  palace  of  an  Indian  Pro-Con- 
sul"; surrounded  by  all  the  glory  and  mystery 
of  the  immemorial  East.  In  plain  English  it 
was  a  one-storied,  ten-roomed,  whitewashed, 
mud-roofed  bungalow,  set  in  a  dry  garden  of 
dusty  tamarisk  trees  and  divided  from  the 
road  by  a  low  mud  wall.  The  green  parrots 
screamed  overhead  as  they  flew  in  battalions 
to  the  river  for  their  morning  drink.  Beyond 
the  wall,  clouds  of  fine  dust  showed  where  the 
cattle  and  goats  of  the  city  were  passing  afield 
to  graze.  The  remorseless  white  light  of  the 


1 84        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

winter  sunshine  of  Northern  India  lay  upon 
everything  and  improved  nothing,  from  the 
whining  Persian-wheel  by  the  lawn-tennis 
court  to  the  long  perspective  of  level  road  and 
the  blue,  domed  tombs  of  Mohammedan  saints 
just  visible  above  the  trees. 

"A  Happy  New  Year,"  said  Orde  to  his 
guest.  "It's  the  first  you've  ever  spent  out  of 
England,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes.  'Happy  New  Year,"  said  Pagett, 
smiling  at  the  sunshine.  "What  a  divine  cli- 
mate you  have  here !  Just  think  of  the  brown 
cold  fog  hanging  over  London  now!"  And 
he  rubbed  his  hands. 

It  was  more  than  twenty  years  since  he  had 
last  seen  Orde,  his  schoolmate,  and  their  paths 
in  the  world  had  divided  early.  The  one  had 
quitted  college  to  become  a  cog-wheel  in  the 
machinery  of  the  great  Indian  Government; 
the  other,  more  blessed  with  goods,  had  been 
whirled  into  a  similar  position  in  the  English 
scheme.  Three  successive  elections  had  not 
affected  Pagett's  position  with  a  loyal  constit- 
uency, and  he  had  grown  insensibly  to  regard 
himself  in  some  sort  as  a  pillar  of  the  Empire, 
whose  real  worth  would  be  known  later  on. 
After  a  few  years  of  conscientious  attendance 
at  many  divisions,  after  newspaper  battles  ia- 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  185 

numerable  and  the  publication  of  interminable 
correspondence,  and  more  hasty  oratory  than 
in  his  calmer  moments  he  cared  to  think  upon, 
it  occurred  to  him,  as  it  had  occurred  to  many 
of  his  fellows  in  Parliament,  that  a  tour  to  In- 
dia would  enable  him  to  sweep  a  larger  lyre 
and  address  himself  to  the  problems  of  Impe- 
rial administration  with  a  firmer  hand.  Ac- 
cepting, therefore,  a  general  invitation  ex- 
tended to  him  by  Orde  some  years  before, 
Pagett  had  taken  ship  to  Karachi,  and  only 
over-night  had  been  received  with  joy  by  the 
Deputy-Commissioner  of  Amara.  They  had 
sat  late,  discussing  the  changes  and  chances  of 
twenty  years,  recalling  the  names  of  the  dead, 
and  weighing  the  futures  of  the  living,  as  is 
the  custom  of  men  meeting  after  intervals  of 
action. 

Next  morning  they  smoked  the  after  break- 
fast pipe  in  the  veranda,  still  regarding  each 
other  curiously,  Pagett,  in  a  light  grey  frock- 
coat  and  garments  much  too  thin  for  the  time 
of  the  year,  and  a  puggried  sun-hat  carefully 
and  wonderfully  made.  Orde  in  a  shooting 
coat,  riding  breeches,  brown  cowhide  boots 
with  spurs,  and  a  battered  flax  helmet.  He 
had  ridden  some  miles  in  the  early  morning 
to  inspect  a  doubtful  river  dam.  The  men's 


1 86        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

faces  differed  as  much  as  their  attire.  Orde's 
worn  and  wrinkled  about  the  eyes,  and  griz- 
zled at  the  temples,  was  the  harder  and  more 
square  of  the  two,  and  it  was  with  something 
like  envy  that  the  owner  looked  at  the  com- 
fortable outlines  of  Pagett's  blandly  receptive 
countenance,  the  clear  skin,  the  untroubled 
eye,  and  the  mobile,  clean-shaved  lips. 

"And  this  is  India!"  said  Pagett  for  the 
twentieth  time,  staring  long  and  intently  at 
the  grey  feathering  of  the  tamarisks. 

"One  portion  of  India  only.  It's  very  much 
like  this  for  300  miles  in  every  direction.  By 
the  way,  now  that  you  have  rested  a  little — I 
wouldn't  ask  the  old  question  before — what 
d'you  think  of  the  country?" 

"  Tis  the  most  pervasive  country  that  ever 
yet  was  seen.  I  acquired  several  pounds  of 
your  country  coming  up  from  Karachi.  The 
air  is  heavy  with  it,  and  for  miles  and  miles 
along  that  distressful  eternity  of  rail  there's 
no  horizon  to  show  where  the  air  and  earth 
separate." 

"Yes.  It  isn't  easy  to  see  truly  or  far  in  In- 
dia. But  you  had  a  decent  passage  out,  hadn't 
you?" 

"Very  good  on  the  whole.  Your  Anglo-In- 
dian may  be  unsympathetic  about  one's  politi- 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  187 

cal  views;  but  he  has  reduced  ship  life  to 
a  science." 

"The  Anglo-Indian  is  a  political  orphan, 
and  if  he's  wise  he  won't  be  in  a  hurry  to  be 
adopted  by  your  party  grandmothers.  But 
how  were  your  companions  unsympathetic?" 

"Well,  there  was  a  man  called  Dawlishe,  a 
judge  somewhere  in  this  country  it  seems,  and 
a  capital  partner  at  whist  by  the  way,  and 
when  I  wanted  to  talk  to  him  about  the  prog- 
ress of  India  in  a  political  sense  (Orde  hid  a 
grin,  which  might  or  might  not  have  been 
sympathetic),  the  National  Congress  move- 
ment, and  other  things  in  which,  as  a  Member 
of  Parliament,  I'm  of  course  interested,  he 
shifted  the  subject,  and  when  I  once  cornered 
him,  he  looked  me  calmly  in  the  eye,  and  said : 
'That's  all  Tommy  Rot.  Come  and  have  a 
game  at  Bull.'  You  may  laugh ;  but  that  isn't 
the  way  to  treat  a  great  and  important  ques- 
tion ;  and,  knowing  who  I  was,  well,  I  thought 
it  rather  rude,  don't  you  know;  and  yet  Daw- 
lishe is  a  thoroughly  good  fellow." 

"Yes ;  he's  a  friend  of  mine,  and  one  of  the 
straightest  men  I  know.  I  suppose,  like  many 
Anglo-Indians,  he  felt  it  was  hopeless  to  give 
you  any  just  idea  of  any  Indian  question  with- 
out the  documents  before  you,  and  in  this  case 


i88        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

the  documents  you  want  are  the  country  and 
the  people." 

"Precisely.  That  was  why  I  came  straight 
to  you,  bringing  an  open  mind  to  bear  on 
things.  I'm  anxious  to  know  what  popular 
feeling  in  India  is  really  like  y'know,  now  that 
it  has  wakened  into  political  life.  The  Na- 
tional Congress,  in  spite  of  Dawlishe,  must 
have  caused  great  excitement  among  the 
masses  ?" 

"On  the  contrary,  nothing  could  be  more 
tranquil  than  the  state  of  popular  feeling;  and 
as  to  excitement,  the  people  would  as  soon  be 
excited  over  the  'Rule  of  Three'  as  over  the 
Congress." 

"Excuse  me,  Orde,  but  do  you  think  you  are 
a  fair  judge?  Isn't  the  official  Anglo-Indian 
naturally  jealous  of  any  external  influences 
that  might  move  the  masses,  and  so  much  op- 
posed to  liberal  ideas,  truly  liberal  ideas,  that 
he  can  scarcely  be  expected  to  regard  a  popu- 
lar movement  with  fairness?" 

"What  did  Dawlishe  say  about  Tommy 
Rot?  Think  a  moment,  old  man.  You  and  I 
were  brought  up  together ;  taught  by  the  same 
tutors,  read  the  same  books,  lived  the  same 
life,  and  thought,  as  you  may  remember,  in 
parallel  lines.  7  come  out  here,  learn  new  Ian- 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  189 

guages,  and  work  among  new  races;  while, 
you,  more  fortunate,  remain  at  home.  Why 
should  I  change  my  mind — our  mind — because 
I  change  my  sky?  Why  should  I  and  the  few 
hundred  Englishmen  in  my  service  become  un- 
reasonable, prejudiced  fossils,  while  you  and 
your  newer  friends  alone  remain  bright  and 
open-minded?  You  surely  don't  fancy  civil- 
ians are  members  of  a  Primrose  League?" 

"Of  course  not,  bu  the  mere  position  of  an 
English  official  givec  him  a  point  of  view 
which  cannot  but  bia^  his  mind  on  this  ques- 
tion." Pagett  moved  his  knee  up  and  down  a 
little  uneasily  as  he  spoke. 

"That  sounds  plausible  enough,  but,  like 
more  plausible  notions  on  Indian  matters,  I  be- 
lieve it's  a  mistake.  You'll  find  when  you 
come  to  consult  the  unofficial  Briton  that  our 
fault,  as  a  class — I  speak  of  the  civilian  now — 
is  rather  to  magnify  the  progress  that  has  been 
made  toward  liberal  institutions.  It  is  of  Eng- 
lish origin,  such  as  it  is,  and  the  stress  of  our 
work  since  the  Mutiny — only  thirty  years  ago 
— has  been  in  that  direction.  No,  I  think  you 
will  get  no  fairer  or  more  dispassionate  view 
of  the  Congress  business  than  such  men  as  I 
can  give  you.  But  I  may  as  well  say  at  once 
that  those  who  know  most  of  India,  from  the 


THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 


inside,  are  inclined  to  wonder  at  the  noise  our 
scarcely  begun  experiment  makes  in  England." 

"But  surely  the  gathering  together  of  Con- 
gress delegates  is  of  itself  a  new  thing." 

"There's  nothing  new  under  the  sun. 
When  Europe  was  a  jungle  half  Asia  flocked 
to  the  canonical  conferences  of  Buddhism; 
and  for  centuries  the  people  have  gathered  at 
Puri,  Hurdwar,  Trimbak,  and  Benares  in  im- 
mense numbers.  A  great  meeting,  what  you 
call  a  mass  meeting,  is  really  one  of  the  oldest 
and  most  popular  of  Indian  institutions.  In 
the  case  of  the  Congress  meetings,  the  only  no- 
table fact  is  that  the  priests  of  the  altar  are 
British,  not  Buddhist,  Jain  or  Brahmanical, 
and  that  the  whole  thing  is  a  British  contriv- 
ance kept  alive  by  the  efforts  of  Messrs. 
Hume,  Eardley,  Norton,  and  Digby." 

"You  mean  to  say,  then,  it's  not  a  spontane- 
ous movement?" 

"What  movement  was  ever  spontaneous  in 
any  true  sense  of  the  word  ?  This  seems  to  be 
more  factitious  than  usual.  You  seem  to 
know  a  great  deal  about  it  ;  try  it  by  the  touch- 
stone of  subscriptions,  a  coarse  but  fairly 
trustworthy  criterion,  and  there  is  scarcely  the 
color  of  money  in  it.  The  delegates  write 
from  England  that  they  are  out  of  pocket  for 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  191 

working  expenses,  railway  fares,  and  station- 
ery— the  mere  pasteboard  and  scaffolding  of 
their  show.  It  is,  in  fact,  collapsing  from 
mere  financial  inanition." 

"But  you  cannot  deny  that  the  people  of  In- 
dia, who  are,  perhaps,  too  poor  to  subscribe, 
are  mentally  and  morally  moved  by  the  agi- 
tation," Pagett  insisted. 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  do  deny.  The  na- 
tive side  of  the  movement  is  the  work  of 
a  limited  class,  a  microscopic  minority,  as 
Lord  Dufferin  described  it,  when  compared 
with  the  people  proper,  but  still  a  very  interest- 
ing class,  seeing  that  it  is  of  our  own  creation. 
It  is  composed  almost  entirely  of  those  of  the 
literary  or  clerkly  castes  who  have  received  an 
English  education." 

"Surely  that's  a  very  important  class.  Its 
members  must  be  the  ordained  leaders  of  pop- 
ular thought." 

"Anywhere  else  they  might  be  leaders,  but 
they  have  no  social  weight  in  this  topsy-turvy 
land,  and  though  they  have  been  employed  in 
clerical  work  for  generations  they  have  no 
practical  knowledge  of  affairs.  A  ship's  clerk 
is  a  useful  person,  but  he  is  scarcely  the  cap- 
tain; and  an  orderly-room  writer,  however 
smart  he  may  be,  is  not  the  colonel.  You  see, 


192        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

the  writer  class  in  India  has  never  till  now  as- 
pired to  anything  like  command.  It  wasn't  al- 
lowed to.  The  Indian  gentleman,  for  thou- 
sands of  years  past,  has  resembled  Victor 
Hugo's  noble : 

'Un  vrai  sire 
Chatelain 
Laisse  ecrire 
Le  vilain. 
Sa  main  digne 
Quand  il  signe 
Egratigne 
Le  velin.' 

And  the  little  egratignures  he  most  likes  to 
make  have  been  scored  pretty  deeply  by  the 
sword." 

"But  this  is  childish  and  mediaeval  non- 
sense !" 

"Precisely;  and  from  your,  or  rather  our, 
point  of  view  the  pen  is  mightier  than  the 
sword.  In  this  country  it's  otherwise.  The 
fault  lies  in  our  Indian  balances,  not  yet  ad- 
justed to  civilized  weights  and  measures." 

"Well,  at  all  events,  this  literary  class  rep- 
resents the  natural  aspirations  and  wishes  of 
the  people  at  large,  though  it  may  not  exactly 
lead  them,  and,  in  spite  of  all  you  say,  Orde,  I 
defy  you  to  find  a  really  sound  English  Radi- 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  193 

cal  who  would  not  sympathize  with  those  as- 
pirations." 

Pagett  spoke  with  some  warmth,  and  he  had 
scarcely  ceased  when  a  well-appointed  dog- 
cart turned  into  the  compound  gates,  and  Orde 
rose  saying: 

"Here  is  Edwards,  the  Master  of  the  Lodge 
I  neglect  so  diligently,  come  to  talk  about  ac- 
counts, I  suppose." 

As  the  vehicle  drove  up  under  the  porch  Pag- 
ett also  rose,  saying  with  the  trained  effusion 
born  of  much  practice : 

"But  this  is  also  my  friend,  my  old  and  val- 
ued friend  Edwards.  I'm  delighted  to  see  you. 
I  knew  you  were  in  India,  but  not  exactly 
where." 

"Then  it  isn't  accounts,  Mr.  Edwards,"  said 
Orde,  cheerily. 

"Why,  no,  sir ;  I  heard  Mr.  Pagett  was  com- 
ing, and  as  our  works  were  closed  for  the  New 
Year  I  thought  I  would  drive  over  and  see 
him." 

"A  very  happy  thought.  Mr.  Edwards, 
you  may  not  know,  Orde,  was  a  leading  mem- 
ber of  our  Radical  Club  at  Switchton  when  I 
was  beginning  political  life,  and  I  owe  much  to 
his  exertions.  There's  no  pleasure  like  meet- 
ing an  old  friend,  except,  perhaps,  making  a 


194        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

new  one.  I  suppose,  Mr.  Edwards,  you  stick 
to  the  good  old  cause?" 

"Well,  you  see,  sir,  things  are  different  out 
here.  There's  precious  little  one  can  find  to 
say  against  the  Government,  which,  was  the 
main  of  our  talk  at  home,  and  them  that  do  say 
things  are  not  the  sort  o'  people  a  man  who  re- 
spects himself  would  like  to  be  mixed  up  with. 
There  are  no  politics,  in  a  manner  of  speaking, 
in  India.  It's  all  work." 

"Surely  you  are  mistaken,  my  good  friend. 
Why  I  have  come  all  the  way  from  England 
just  to  see  the  working  of  this  great  National 
movement." 

"I  don't  know  where  you're  going  to  find 
the  nation  as  moves  to  begin  with,  and  then 
you'll  be  hard  put  to  it  to  find  what  they  are 
moving  about.  It's  like  this,  sir,"  said  Ed- 
wards, who  had  not  quite  relished  being  called 
"my  good  friend."  "They  haven't  got  any 
grievance — nothing  to  hit  with,  don't  you  see, 
sir ;  and  then  there's  not  much  to  hit  against, 
because  the  Government  is  more  like  a  kind  of 
general  Providence,  directing  an  old-estab- 
lished state  of  things,  than  that  at  home, 
where  there's  something  new  thrown  down  for 
us  to  fight  about  every  three  months." 

"You  are  probably,  in  your  workshops,  full 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  195 

of  English  mechanics,  out  of  the  way  of  learn- 
ing what  the  masses  think." 

"I  don't  know  so  much  about  that.  There 
are  four  of  us  English  foremen,  and  between 
seven  and  eight  hundred  native  fitters,  smiths, 
carpenters,  painters,  and  such  like." 

"And  they  are  full  of  the  Congress,  of 
course  ?" 

"Never  hear  a  word  of  it  from  year's  end  to 
year's  end,  and  I  speak  the  talk,  too.  But  I 
wanted  to  ask  how  things  are  going  on  at 
home — old  Tyler  and  Brown  and  the  rest?" 

"We  will  speak  of  them  presently,  but  your 
account  of  the  indifference  of  your  men  sur- 
prises me  almost  as  much  as  your  own.  I  fear 
you  are  a  backslider  from  the  good  old  doc- 
trine, Edwards."  Pagett  spoke  as  one  who 
mourned  the  death  of  a  near  relative. 

"Not  a  bit,  sir,  but  I  should  be  if  I  took  up 
with  a  parcel  of  baboos,  pleaders,  and  school- 
boys, as  never  did  a  day's  work  in  their  lives, 
and  couldn't  if  they  tried.  And  if  you  was  to 
poll  us  English  railway  men,  mechanics, 
trades-people,  and  the  like  of  that  all  up  and 
down  the  country  from  Peshawur  to  Calcutta, 
you  would  find  us  mostly  in  a  tale  together. 
And  yet  you  know  we're  the  same  English  you 
pay  some  respect  to  at  home  at  'lection  time, 


196        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

and  we  have  the  pull  o'  knowing  something 
about  it." 

"This  is  very  curious,  but  you  will  let  me 
come  and  see  you,  and  perhaps  you  will  kindly 
show  me  the  railway  works,  and  we  will  talk 
things  over  at  leisure.  And  about  all  old 
friends  and  old  times,"  added  Pagett,  detect- 
ing with  quick  insight  a  look  of  disappoint- 
ment in  the  mechanic's  face. 

Nodding  briefly  to  Orde,  Edwards  mounted 
his  dog-cart  and  drove  off. 

"It's  very  disappointing,"  said  the  Member 
to  Orde,  who,  while  his  friend  discoursed 
with  Edwards,  had  been  looking  over  a  bundle 
of  sketches  drawn  on  grey  paper  in  purple  ink, 
brought  to  him  by  a  Chuprassee. 

"Don't  let  it  trouble  you,  old  chap,"  said 
Orde,  sympathetically.  "Look  here  a  moment, 
here  are  some  sketches  by  the  man  who  made 
the  carved  wood  screen  you  admired  so  much 
in  the  dining-room,  and  wanted  a  copy  of,  and 
the  artist  himself  is  here  too." 

"A  native?"  said  Pagett. 

"Of  course,"  was  the  reply,  "Bishen  Singh 
is  his  name,  and  he  has  two  brothers  to  help 
him.  When  there  is  an  important  job  to  do, 
the  three  go  into  partnership,  but  they  spend 
most  of  their  time  and  all  their  money  in  liti- 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  197 

gation  over  an  inheritance,  and  I'm  afraid  they 
are  getting  involved.  Thoroughbred  Sikhs  of 
the  old  rock,  obstinate,  touchy,  bigoted,  and 
cunning,  but  good  men  for  all  that.  Here  is 
Bishen  Singh — shall  we  ask  him  about  the 
Congress?" 

But  Bishen  Singh,  who  approached  with  a 
respectful  salaam  had  never  heard  of  it,  and 
he  listened  with  a  puzzled  face  and  obviously 
feigned  interest  to  Orde's  account  of  its  aims 
and  objects,  finally  shaking  his  vast  white  tur- 
ban with  great  significance  when  he  learned 
that  it  was  promoted  by  certain  pleaders 
named  by  Orde,  and  by  educated  natives.  He 
began  with  labored  respect  to  explain  how  he 
was  a  poor  man  with  no  concern  in  such  mat- 
ters, which  were  all  under  the  control  of  God, 
but  presently  broke  out  of  Urdu  into  familiar 
Punjabi,  the  mere  sound  of  which  had  a  rustic 
smack  of  village  smoke-reek  and  plough-tail, 
as  he  denounced  the  wearers  of  white  coats, 
the  jugglers  with  words  who  filched  his  field 
from  him,  the  men  whose  backs  were  never 
bowed  in  honest  work;  and  poured  ironical 
scorn  on  the  Bengali.  He  and  one  of  his 
brothers  had  seen  Calcutta,  and  being  at  work 
there  had  Bengali  carpenters  given  to  them  as 
assistants. 


198        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

"Those  carpenters!"  said  Bishen  Singh. 
"Black  apes  were  more  efficient  workmates, 
and  as  for  the  Bengali  babu — tchick!"  The 
guttural  click  needed  no  interpretation,  but 
Orde  translated  the  rest,  while  Pagett  gazed 
with  interest  at  the  wood-carver. 

"He  seems  to  have  a  most  illiberal  prejudice 
against  the  Bengali,"  said  the  M.P. 

"Yes,  it's  very  sad  that  for  ages  outside  Ben- 
gal there  should  be  so  bitter  a  prejudice.  Pride 
of  race,  which  also  means  race-hatred,  is  the 
plague  and  curse  of  India  and  it  spreads  far," 
Orde  pointed  with  his  riding-whip  to  the  large 
map  of  India  on  the  veranda  wall. 

"See!  I  begin  with  the  North,"  said  he. 
"There's  the  Afghan,  and,  as  a  highlander,  he 
despises  all  the  dwellers  in  Hindoostan — with 
the  exception  of  the  Sikh,  whom  he  hates  as 
cordially  as  the  Sikh  hates  him.  The  Hindu 
loathes  Sikh  and  Afghan,  and  the  Rajput — 
that's  a  little  lower  down  across  this  yellow 
blot  of  desert — has  a  strong  objection,  to  put 
it  mildly,  to  the  Maratha  who,  by  the  way, 
poisonously  hates  the  Afghan.  Let's  go 
North  a  minute.  The  Sindhi  hates  everybody 
I've  mentioned.  Very  good,  we'll  take  less 
warlike  races.  The  cultivator  of  Northern 
India  domineers  over  the  man  in  the  next 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  199 

province,  and  the  Behari  of  the  Northwest 
ridicules  the  Bengali.  They  are  all  at  one  on 
that  point.  I'm  giving  you  merely  the  rough- 
est possible  outlines  of  the  facts,  of  course." 

Bishen  Singh,  his  clean  cut  nostrils  still 
quivering,  watched  the  large  sweep  of  the 
whip  as  it  traveled  from  the  frontier,  through 
Sindh,  the  Punjab  and  Rajputana,  till  it 
rested  by  the  valley  of  the  Jumna. 

"Hate — eternal  and  inextinguishable  hate," 
concluded  Orde,  flicking  the  lash  of  the  whip 
across  the  large  map  from  East  to  West  as  he 
sat  down.  "Remember  Canning's  advice  to 
Lord  Granville.  'Never  write  or  speak  of  In- 
dian things  without  looking  at  a  map.' ' 

Pagett  opened  his  eyes,  Orde  resumed. 
"And  the  race-hatred  is  only  a  part  of  it. 
What's  really  the  matter  with  Bishen  Singh  is 
class-hatred,  which,  unfortunately,  is  even 
more  intense  and  more  widely  spread.  That's 
one  of  the  little  drawbacks  of  caste,  which 
some  of  your  recent  English  writers  find  an 
impeccable  system." 

The  wood-carver  was  glad  to  be  recalled  to 
the  business  of  his  craft,  and  his  eyes  shone  as 
he  received  instructions  for  a  carved  wooden 
doorway  for  Pagett,  which  he  promised  should 
be  splendidly  executed  and  despatched  to  Eng- 


200        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

land  in  six  months.  It  is  an  irrelevant  detail, 
but  in  spite  of  Orde's  reminders,  fourteen 
months  elapsed  before  the  work  was  finished. 
Business  over,  Bishen  Singh  hung  about,  re- 
luctant to  take  his  leave,  and  at  last  joining 
his  hands  and  approaching  Orde  with  bated 
breath  and  whispering  humbleness,  said  he  had 
a  petition  to  make.  Orde's  face  suddenly  lost 
all  trace  of  expression.  "Speak  on,  Bishen 
Singh,"  said  he,  and  the  carver  in  a  whining 
tone  explained  that  his  case  against  his  broth- 
ers was  fixed  for  hearing  before  a  native  judge 
and — here  he  dropped  his  voice  still  lower  till 
he  was  summarily  stopped  by  Orde,  who 
sternly  pointed  to  the  gate  with  an  emphatic 
"Begone!" 

Bishen  Singh,  showing  but  little  sign  of  dis- 
composure, salaamed  respectfully  to  the 
friends  and  departed. 

Pagett  looked  inquiry;  Orde  with  complete 
recovery  of  his  usual  urbanity,  replied:  "It's 
nothing,  only  the  old  story,  he  wants  his  case 
to  be  tried  by  an  English  judge — they  all  do 
that — but  when  he  began  to  hint  that  the  other 
side  were  in  improper  relations  with  the  native 
judge  I  had  to  shut  him  up.  Gunga  Ram,  the 
man  he  wanted  to  make  insinuations  about, 
may  not  be  very  bright;  but  he's  as  honest  as 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  201 

daylight  on  the  bench.  But  that's  just  what 
one  can't  get  a  native  to  believe." 

"Do  you  really  mean  to  say  these  people  pre- 
fer to  have  their  cases  tried  by  English 
judges?" 

"Why,  certainly." 

Pagett  drew  a  long  breath.  "I  didn't  know 
that  before."  At  this  point  a  phaeton  entered 
the  compound,  and  Orde  rose  with  "Confound 
it,  there's  old  Rasul  Ali  Khan  come  to  pay  one 
of  his  tiresome  duty  calls.  I'm  afraid  we  shall 
never  get  through  our  little  Congress  discus- 
sion." 

Pagett  was  an  almost  silent  spectator  of  the 
grave  formalities  of  a  visit  paid  by  a  punctili- 
ous old  Mohammedan  gentleman  to  an  Indian 
official;  and  much  impressed  by  the  distinc- 
tion of  manner  and  fine  appearance  of  the  Mo- 
hammedan landholder.  When  the  exchange 
of  polite  banalities  came  to  a  pause,  he  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  learn  the  courtly  visitor's 
opinion  of  the  National  Congress. 

Orde  reluctantly  interpreted,  and  with  a 
smile  which  even  Mohammedan  politeness 
could  not  save  from  bitter  scorn,  Rasul  Ali 
Khan  intimated  that  he  knew  nothing  about  it 
and  cared  still  less.  It  was  a  kind  of  talk  en- 
couraged by  the  Government  for  some  myste- 


202        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

rious  purpose  ot  its  own  and  for  his  own  part 
he  wondered  and  held  his  peace. 

Pagett  was  far  from  satisfied  with  this,  and 
wished  to  have  the  old  gentleman's  opinion  on 
the  propriety  of  managing  all  Indian  affairs 
on  the  basis  of  an  elective  system. 

Orde  did  his  best  to  explain,  but  it  was  plain 
the  visitor  was  bored  and  bewildered. 
Frankly,  he  didn't  think  much  of  committees; 
they  had  a  Municipal  Committee  at  Lahore 
and  had  elected  a  menial  servant,  an  orderly, 
as  a  member.  He  had  been  informed  of  this 
on  good  authority,  and  after  that,  committees 
had  ceased  to  interest  him.  But  all  was  ac- 
cording to  the  rule  of  Government,  and,  please 
God,  it  was  all  for  the  best. 

"What  an  old  fossil  it  is!"  cried  Pagett,  as 
Orde  returned  from  seeing  his  guest  to  the 
door;  "just  like  some  old  blue-blooded  hidalgo 
of  Spain.  What  does  he  really  think  of  the 
Congress  after  all,  and  of  the  elective  system?" 

"Hates  it  all  like  poison.  When  you  are 
sure  of  a  majority,  election  is  a  fine  system; 
but  you  can  scarcely  expect  the  Mohammedans, 
the  most  masterful  and  powerful  minority  in 
the  country,  to  contemplate  their  own  extinc- 
tion with  joy.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  he  and 
his  co-religionists,  who  are  many,  and  the 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  203 

landed  proprietors,  also,  of  Hindu  race,  are 
frightened  and  put  out  by  this  election  business 
and  by  the  importance  we  have  bestowed  on 
lawyers,  pleaders,  writers,  and  the  like,  who 
have,  up  to  now,  been  in  abject  submission  to 
them.  They  say  little,  but  after  all  they  are 
the  most  important  fagots  in  the  great  bundle 
of  communities,  and  all  the  glib  bunkum  in 
the  world  would  not  pay  for  their  estrange- 
ment. They  have  controlled  the  land." 

"But  I  am  assured  that  experience  of  local 
self-government  in  your  municipalities  has 
been  most  satisfactory,  and  when  once  the 
principle  is  accepted  in  your  centres,  don't  you 
know,  it  is  bound  to  spread,  and  these  impor- 
tant— ah'm — people  of  yours  would  learn  it 
like  the  rest.  I  see  no  difficulty  at  all,"  and  the 
smooth  lips  closed  with  the  complacent  snap 
habitual  to  Pagett,  M.P.,  the  "man  of  cheerful 
yesterdays  and  confident  to-morrows." 

Orde  looked  at  him  with  a  dreary  smile. 

"The  privilege  of  election  has  been  most  re- 
luctantly withdrawn  from  scores  of  munici- 
palities, others  have  had  to  be  summarily  sup- 
pressed, and,  outside  the  Presidency  towns, 
the  actual  work  done  has  been  badly  per- 
formed. This  is  of  less  moment,  perhaps — it 
only  sends  up  the  local  death-rates — than  the 


204        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

fact  that  the  public  interest  in  municipal  elec- 
tions, never  very  strong,  has  waned,  and  is 
waning,  in  spite  of  careful  nursing  on  the  part 
of  Government  servants." 

"Can  you  explain  this  lack  of  interest?" 
said  Pagett,  putting  aside  the  rest  of  Orde's 
remarks. 

"You  may  find  a  ward  of  the  key  in  the  fact 
that  only  one  in  every  thousand  of  our  popu- 
lation can  spell.  Then  they  are  infinitely  more 
interested  in  religion  and  caste  questions  than 
in  any  sort  of  politics.  When  the  business  of 
mere  existence  is  over,  their  minds  are  occu- 
pied by  a  series  of  interests,  pleasures,  rituals, 
superstitions,  and  the  like,  based  on  centuries 
of  tradition  and  usage.  You,  perhaps,  find  it 
hard  to  conceive  of  people  absolutely  devoid  of 
curiosity,  to  whom  the  book,  the  daily  paper, 
and  the  printed  speech  are  unknown,  and  you 
would  describe  their  life  as  blank.  That's  a 
profound  mistake.  You  are  in  another  land, 
another  century,  down  on  the  bed-rock  of  soci- 
ety, where  the  family  merely,  and  not  the  com- 
munity, is  all-important.  The  average  Ori- 
ental cannot  be  brought  to  look  beyond  his 
clan.  His  life,  too,  is  more  complete  and  self- 
sufficing,  and  less  sordid  and  low-thoughted 
than  you  might  imagine.  It  is  bovine  and 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  205 

slow  in  some  respects,  but  it  is  never  empty. 
You  and  I  are  inclined  to  put  the  cart  before 
the  horse,  and  to  forget  that  it  is  the  man  that 
is  elemental,  not  the  book. 

'  The  corn  and  the  cattle  are  all  my  care, 
And  the  rest  is  the  will  of  God.' 

Why  should  such  folk  look  up  from  their  im- 
memorially  appointed  round  of  duty  and  inter- 
ests to  meddle  with  the  unknown  and  fuss  with 
voting-papers.  How  would  you,  atop  of  all 
your  interests  care  to  conduct  even  one-tenth 
of  your  life  according  to  the  manners  and  cus- 
toms of  the  Papuans,  let's  say?  That's  what 
it  comes  to." 

"But  if  they  won't  take  the  trouble  to  vote, 
why  do  you  anticipate  that  Mohammedans, 
proprietors,  and  the  rest  would  be  crushed  by 
majorities  of  them?" 

Again  Pagett  disregarded  the  closing  sen- 
tence. 

"Because,  though  the  landholders  would  not 
move  a  finger  on  any  purely  political  question, 
they  could  be  raised  in  dangerous  excitement 
by  religious  hatreds.  Already  the  first  note 
of  this  has  been  sounded  by  the  people  who  are 
trying  to  get  up  an  agitation  on  the  cow-killing 


206        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

question,  and  every  year  there  is  trouble  over 
the  Mohammedan  Muharrum  processions." 

"But  who  looks  after  the  popular  rights, 
being  thus  unrepresented?" 

"The  Government  of  Her  Majesty  the 
Queen,  Empress  of  India,  in  which,  if  the  Con- 
gress promoters  are  to  be  believed  the  people 
have  an  implicit  trust ;  for  the  Congress  circu- 
lar, specially  prepared  for  rustic  comprehen- 
sion, says  the  movement  is  'for  the  remission 
of  tax,  the  advancement  of  Hindustan,  and  the 
strengthening  of  the  British  Government.' 
This  paper  is  headed  in  large  letters — 'MAY 
THE  PROSPERITY  OF  THE  EMPRESS  OF  INDIA 
ENDURE.'  ' 

"Really!"  said  Pagett,  "that  shows  some 
cleverness.  But  there  are  things  better  worth 
imitation  in  our  English  methods  of — er — 
political  statement  than  this  sort  of  amiable 
fraud." 

"Anyhow,"  resumed  Orde,  "you  perceive 
that  not  a  word  is  said  about  elections  and  the 
elective  principle,  and  the  reticence  of  the  Con- 
gress promoters  here  shows  they  are  wise  in 
their  generation." 

"But  the  elective  principle  must  triumph  in 
the  end,  and  the  little  difficulties  you  seem  to 
anticipate  would  give  way  on  the  introduction 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  207 

of  a  well-balanced  scheme,  capable  of  indefinite 
extension." 

"But  is  it  possible  to  devise  a  scheme  which, 
always  assuming  that  the  people  took  any  in- 
terest in  it,  without  enormous  expense,  ruin- 
ous dislocation  of  the  administration  and  dan- 
ger to  the  public  peace,  can  satisfy  the  aspira- 
tions of  Mr.  Hume  and  his  following,  and  yet 
safeguard  the  interests  of  the  Mohammedans, 
the  landed  and  wealthy  classes,  the  Conserva- 
tive Hindus,  the  Eurasians,  Parsees,  Sikhs, 
Rajputs,  native  Christians,  domiciled  Euro- 
peans and  others,  who  are  each  important  and 
powerful  in  their  way?" 

Pagett's  attention,  however,  was  diverted  to 
the  gate,  where  a  group  of  cultivators  stood 
in  apparent  hesitation. 

"Here  are  the  twelve  Apostles,  by  Jove! — 
come  straight  out  of  Raffaele's  cartoons,"  said 
the  M.P.,  with  the  fresh  appreciation  of  a 
newcomer. 

Orde,  loth  to  be  interrupted,  turned  impa- 
tiently toward  the  villagers,  and  their  leader, 
handing  his  long  staff  to  one  of  his  compan- 
ions, advanced  to  the  house. 

"It  is  old  Jelloo,  the  Lumberdar,  or  head- 
man of  Find  Sharkot,  and  a  very  intelligent 
man  for  a  villager." 


208         THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

The  Jat  farmer  had  removed  his  shoes  and 
stood  smiling  on  the  edge  of  the  veranda.  His 
strongly  marked  features  glowed  with  russet 
bronze,  and  his  bright  eyes  gleamed  under 
deeply  set  brows,  contracted  by  lifelong  expos- 
ure to  sunshine.  His  beard  and  moustache 
streaked  with  grey  swept  from  bold  cliffs  of 
brow  and  cheek  in  the  large  sweeps  one  sees 
drawn  by  Michael  Angelo,  and  strands  of  long 
black  hair  mingled  with  the  irregularly  piled 
wreaths  and  folds  of  his  turban.  The  drapery 
of  stout  blue  cotton  cloth  thrown  over  his 
broad  shoulders  and  girt  round  his  narrow 
loins,  hung  from  his  tall  form  in  broadly  sculp- 
tured folds,  and  he  would  have  made  a  superb 
model  for  an  artist  in  search  of  a  patriarch. 

Orde  greeted  him  cordially,  and  after  a  po- 
lite pause  the  countryman  started  off  with  a 
long  story  told  with  impressive  earnestness. 
Orde  listened  and  smiled,  interrupting  the 
speaker  at  times  to  argue  and  reason  with  him 
in  a  tone  which  Pagett  could  hear  was  kindly, 
and  finally  checking  the  flux  of  words  was 
about  to  dismiss  him,  when  Pagett  suggested 
that  he  should  be  asked  about  the  National 
Congress. 

But  Jelloo  had  never  heard  of  it.  He  was 
a  poor  man,  and  such  things,  by  the  favor  of 
his  Honor,  did  not  concern  him. 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  209 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  big  friend 
that  he  was  so  terribly  in  earnest  ?"  asked  Pag- 
ett,  when  he  had  left. 

"Nothing  much.  He  wants  the  blood  of  the 
people  in  the  next  village,  who  have  had  small- 
pox and  cattle  plague  prettly  badly,  and  by  the 
help  of  a  wizard,  a  currier,  and  several  pigs 
have  passed  it  on  to  his  own  village.  'Wants 
to  know  if  they  can't  be  run  in  for  this  awful 
crime.  It  seems  they  made  a  dreadful  chari- 
vari at  the  village  boundary,  threw  a  quantity 
of  spell-bearing  objects  over  the  border,  a 
buffalo's  skull  and  other  things ;  then  branded 
a  chamdr — what  you  would  call  a  currier — on 
his  hinder  parts  and  drove  him  and  a  number 
of  pigs  over  into  Jelloo's  village.  Jelloo  says 
he  can  bring  evidence  to  prove  that  the  wizard 
directing  these  proceedings,  who  is  a  Sansi, 
has  been  guilty  of  theft,  arson,  cattle-killing, 
perjury  and  murder,  but  would  prefer  to  have 
him  punished  for  bewitching  them  and  inflict- 
ing smallpox." 

"And  how  on  earth  did  you  answer  such  a 
lunatic?" 

"Lunatic !  The  old  fellow  is  as  sane  as  you 
or  I;  and  he  has  some  ground  of  complaint 
against  those  Sansis.  I  asked  if  he  would  like 
a  native  superintendent  of  police  with  some 


210        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

men  to  make  inquiries,  but  he  objected  on  the 
grounds  the  police  were  rather  worse  than 
smallpox  and  criminal  tribes  put  together." 

"Criminal  tribes — er — I  don't  quite  under- 
stand," said  Pagett. 

"We  have  in  India  many  tribes  of  people 
who  in  the  slack  anti-British  days  became  rob- 
bers, in  various  kind,  and  preyed  on  the  peo- 
ple. They  are  being  restrained  and  reclaimed 
little  by  little,  and  in  time  will  become  useful 
citizens,  but  they  still  cherish  hereditary  tradi- 
tions of  crime,  and  are  a  difficult  lot  to  deal 
with.  By  the  way  what  about  the  political 
rights  of  these  folk  under  your  schemes  ?  The 
country  people  call  them  vermin,  but  I  suppose 
they  would  be  electors  with  the  rest." 

"Nonsense — special  provision  would  be 
made  for  them  in  a  well-considered  electoral 
scheme,  and  they  would  doubtless  be  treated 
with  fitting  severity,"  said  Pagett,  with  a  mag- 
isterial air. 

"Severity,  yes — but  whether  it  would  be  fit- 
ting is  doubtful.  Even  those  poor  devils  have 
rights,  and,  after  all,  they  only  practice  what 
they  have  been  taught." 

"But  criminals,  Orde!" 

"Yes,  criminals  with  codes  and  rituals  of 
crime,  gods  and  godlings  of  crime,  and  a  hun- 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  211 

dred  songs  and  sayings  in  praise  of  it.  Puz- 
zling, isn't  it?" 

"It's  simply  dreadful.  They  ought  to  be  put 
down  at  once.  Are  there  many  of  them?" 

"Not  more  than  about  sixty  thousand  in  this 
province,  for  many  of  the  tribes  broadly  de- 
scribed as  criminal  are  really  vagabond  and 
criminal  only  on  occasion,  while  others  are 
being  settled  and  reclaimed.  They  are  of 
great  antiquity,  a  legacy  from  the  past,  the 
golden,  glorious  Aryan  past  of  Max  Miiller, 
Birdwood  and  the  rest  of  your  spindrift  phil- 
osophers." 

An  orderly  brought  a  card  to  Orde,  who 
took  it  with  a  movement  of  irritation  at  the  in- 
terruption, and  handed  it  to  Pagett;  a  large 
card  with  a  ruled  border  in  red  ink,  and  in  the 
centre  in  schoolboy  copper  plate,  Mr.  Dina 
Nath.  "Give  salaam,"  said  the  civilian,  and 
there  entered  in  haste  a  slender  youth,  clad  in 
closely  fitting  coat  of  grey  homespun,  tight 
trousers,  patent-leather  shoes,  and  a  small 
black  velvet  cap.  His  thin  cheek  twitched,  and 
his  eyes  wandered  restlessly,  for  the  young 
man  was  evidently  nervous  and  uncomfortable, 
though  striving  to  assume  a  free  and  easy  air. 

"Your  honor  may  perhaps  remember  me," 
he  said  in  English,  and  Orde  scanned  him 
keenly. 


212        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

"I  know  your  face  somehow.  You  belonged 
to  the  Shershah  district  I  think,  when  I  was  in 
charge  there  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  my  father  is  writer  at  Shershah, 
and  your  honor  gave  me  a  prize  when  I  was 
first  in  the  Middle  School  examination  five 
years  ago.  Since  then  I  have  prosecuted  my 
studies,  and  I  am  now  second  year's  student  in 
the  Mission  College." 

"Of  course :  you  are  Kedar  Nath's  son — the 
boy  who  said  he  liked  geography  better  than 
play  or  sugar  cakes,  and  I  didn't  believe  you. 
How  is  your  father  getting  on?" 

"He  is  well,  and  he  sends  his  salaam,  but  his 
circumstances  are  depressed,  and  he  also  is 
down  on  his  luck." 

"You  learn  English  idioms  at  the  Mission 
College,  it  seems." 

"Yes,  sir,  they  are  the  best  idioms,  and  my 
father  ordered  me  to  ask  your  honor  to  say  a 
word  for  him  to  the  present  incumbent  of  your 
honor's  shoes,  the  latchet  of  which  he  is  not 
worthy  to  open,  and  who  knows  not  Joseph; 
for  things  are  different  at  Shershah  now,  and 
my  father  wants  promotion." 

"Your  father  is  a  good  man,  and  I  will  do 
what  I  can  for  him." 

At  this  point  a  telegram  was  handed  to 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  213 

Orde,  who,  after  glancing  at  it,  said  he  must 
leave  his  young  friend  whom  he  introduced  to 
Pagett,  "a  member  of  the  English  House  of 
Commons  who  wishes  to  learn  about  India." 

Orde  had  scarcely  retired  with  his  telegram 
when  Pagett  began: 

"Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  something  of  the 
National  Congress  movement?" 

"Sir,  it  is  the  greatest  movement  of  mod- 
ern times,  and  one  in  which  all  educated  men 
like  us  must  join.  All  our  students  are  for  the 
Congress." 

"Excepting,  I  suppose,  Mohammedans,  and 
the  Christians?"  said  Pagett,  quick  to  use  his 
recent  instruction. 

"These  are  some  mere  exceptions  to  the  uni- 
versal rule." 

"But  the  people  outside  the  College,  the 
working  classes,  the  agriculturists ;  your  father 
and  mother,  for  instance." 

"My  mother,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a 
visible  effort  to  bring  himself  to  pronounce  the 
word,  "has  no  ideas,  and  my  father  is  not  ag- 
riculturist, nor  working  class;  he  is  of  the 
Kayeth  caste ;  but  he  had  not  the  advantage  of 
a  collegiate  education,  and  he  does  not  know 
much  of  the  Congress.  It  is  a  movement  for 
the  educated  young-man" — connecting  adjec- 
tive and  noun  in  a  sort  of  vocal  hyphen. 


214        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Pagett,  feeling  he  was  a 
little  off  the  rails,  "  and  what  are  the  benefits 
you  expect  to  gain  by  it?" 

"Oh,  sir,  everything.  England  owes  its 
greatness  to  Parliamentary  institutions,  and 
we  should  at  once  gain  the  same  high  position 
in  scale  of  nations.  Sir,  we  wish  to  have  the 
sciences,  the  arts,  the  manufactures,  the  indus- 
trial factories,  with  steam  engines,  and  other 
motive  powers,  and  public  meetings,  and  de- 
bates. Already  we  have  a  debating  club  in 
connection  with  the  college,  and  elect  a  Mr. 
Speaker.  Sir,  the  progress  must  come.  You 
also  are  a  Member  of  Parliament  and  worship 
the  great  Lord  Ripon,"  said  the  youth,  breath- 
lessly, and  his  black  eyes  flashed  as  he  finished 
his  commaless  sentences. 

"Well,"  said  Pagett,  drily,  "it  has  not  yet 
occurred  to  me  to  worship  his  Lordship,  al- 
though I  believe  he  is  a  very  worthy  man,  and 
I  am  not  sure  that  England  owes  quite  all  the 
things  you  name  to  the  House  of  Commons. 
You  see,  my  young  friend,  the  growth  of  a 
nation  like  ours  is  slow,  subject  to  many  influ- 
ences, and  if  you  have  read  your  history 
aright" — 

"Sir,  I  know  it  all — all !  Norman  Conquest, 
Magna  Charta,  Runnymede,  Reformation,  Tu- 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  215 

dors,  Stuarts,  Mr.  Milton  and  Mr.  Burke,  and 
I  have  read  something1  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer 
and  Gibbon's  'Decline  and  Fall,'  Reynold's 
'Mysteries  of  the  Court,'  and" — 

Pagett   felt   like   one   who   had   pulled   the 
string  of  a  shower-bath  unawares,  and  has- 
tened to  stop  the  torrent  with  a  question  as  to 
what  particular  grievances  of  the  people  of  In- 
dia the  attention  of  an  elected  assembly  should 
be  first  directed.     But  young  Mr.  Dina  Nath 
was  slow  to  particularize.     There  were  many, 
very    many    demanding    consideration.      Mr. 
Pagett  would  like  to  hear  of  one  or  two  typical 
examples.     The  Repeal  of  the  Arms  Act  was 
at  last  named,  and  the  student  learned  for  the 
first  time  that  a  license  was  necessary  before 
an  Englishman  could  carry  a  gun  in  England. 
Then  natives  of  India  ought  to  be  allowed  to 
become  Volunteer  Riflemen  if  they  chose,  and 
the  absolute  equality  of  the  Oriental  with  his 
European  fellow-subject  in  civil  status  should 
be  proclaimed  on  principle,   and   the   Indian 
Army  should  be  considerably  reduced.     The 
student  was  not,  however,  prepared  with  an- 
swers to   Mr.    Pagett's  mildest  questions  on 
these  points,  and  he  returned  to  vague  gener- 
alities, leaving  the  M.P.   so  much  impressed 
with  the  crudity  of  his  views  that  he  was  glad 


216        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

on  Orde's  return  to  say  good-bye  to  his  "very 
interesting"  young  friend. 

"What  do  you  think  of  young  India?"  asked 
Orde. 

"Curious,  very  curious — and  callow." 
"And  yet,"  the  civilian  replied,  "one  can 
scarcely  help  sympathizing  with  him  for  his 
mere  youth's  sake.  The  young  orators  of  the 
Oxford  Union  arrived  at  the  same  conclusions 
and  showed  doubtless  just  the  same  enthusi- 
asm. If  there  were  any  political  analogy  be- 
tween India  and  England,  if  the  thousand 
races  of  this  Empire  were  one,  if  there  were 
any  chance  even  of  their  learning  to  speak  one 
language,  if,  in  short,  India  were  a  Utopia  of 
the  debating-room,  and  not  a  real  land,  this 
kind  of  talk  might  be  worth  listening  to,  but  it 
is  all  based  on  false  analogy  and  ignorance  of 
the  facts." 

"But  he  is  a  native  and  knows  the  facts." 
"He  is  a  sort  of  English  schoolboy,  but  mar- 
ried three  years,  and  the  father  of  two  weak- 
lings, and  knows  less  than  most  English 
schoolboys.  You  saw  all  he  is  and  knows,  and 
such  ideas  as  he  has  acquired  are  directly  hos- 
tile to  the  most  cherished  convictions  of  the 
vast  majority  of  the  people." 

"But  what  does  he  mean  by  saying  he  is  a 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  217 

student  of  a  mission  college.  Is  he  a  Chris- 
tian?" 

"He  meant  just  what  he  said,  and  he  is  not 
a  Christian,  nor  ever  will  he  be.  Good  people 
in  America,  Scotland,  and  England,  most  of 
whom  would  never  dream  of  collegiate  educa- 
tion for  their  own  sons,  are  pinching  them- 
selves to  bestow  it  in  pure  waste  on  Indian 
youths.  Their  scheme  is  an  oblique,  subter- 
ranean attack  on  heathenism ;  the  theory  being 
that  with  the  jam  of  secular  education,  leading 
to  a  University  degree,  the  pill  of  moral  or  re- 
ligious instruction  may  be  coaxed  down  the 
heaten  gullet." 

"But  does  it  succeed;  do  they  make  con- 
verts ?" 

"They  make  no  converts,  for  the  subtle  Ori- 
ental swallows  the  jam  and  rejects  the  pill; 
but  the  mere  example  of  the  sober,  righteous, 
and  godly  lives  of  the  principals  and  profes- 
sors, who  are  most  excellent  and  devoted  men, 
must  have  a  certain  moral  value.  Yet,  as 
Lord  Lansdowne  pointed  out  the  other  day, 
the  market  is  dangerously  overstocked  with 
graduates  of  our  Universities  who  look  for 
employment  in  the  administration.  An  im- 
mense number  are  employed,  but  year  by  year 
the  college  mills  grind  out  increasing  lists  of 


218        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

youths  foredoomed  to  failure  and  disappoint- 
ment, and  meanwhile,  trade,  manufactures, 
and  the  industrial  arts  are  neglected,  and  in 
fact  regarded  with  contempt  by  our  new  lit- 
erary mandarins  in  posse." 

"But  our  young  friend  said  he  wanted 
steam-engines  and  factories,"  said  Pagett. 

"Yes,  he  would  like  to  direct  such  concerns. 
He  wants  to  begin  at  the  top,  for  manual  labor 
is  held  to  be  discreditable,  and  he  would  never 
defile  his  hands  by  the  apprenticeship  which 
the  architects,  engineers,  and  manufacturers 
of  England  cheerfully  undergo;  and  he  would 
be  aghast  to  learn  that  the  leading  names  of  in- 
dustrial enterprise  in  England  belonged  a  gen- 
eration or  two  since,  or  now  belong,  to  men 
who  wrought  with  their  own  hands.  And, 
though  he  talks  glibly  of  manufacturers,  he  re- 
fuses to  see  that  the  Indian  manufacturer  of 
the  future  will  be  the  despised  workman  of  the 
present.  It  was  proposed,  for  example,  a  few 
weeks  ago,  that  a  certain  municipality  in  this 
province  should  establish  an  elementary  tech- 
nical school  for  the  sons  of  workmen.  The 
stress  of  the  opposition  to  the  plan  came  from 
a  pleader  who  owed  all  he  had  to  a  college  edu- 
cation bestowed  on  him  gratis  by  Government 
and  missions.  You  would  have  fancied  some 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  219 

fine  old  crusted  Tory  squire  of  the  last  gener- 
ation was  speaking.  'These  people/  he  said, 
'want  no  education,  for  they  learn  their  trades 
from  their  fathers,  and  to  teach  a  workman's 
son  the  elements  of  mathematics  and  physical 
science  would  give  him  ideas  above  his  busi- 
ness. They  must  be  kept  in  their  place,  and  it 
is  idle  to  imagine  that  there  is  any  science 
in  wood  or  iron  work.'  And  he  carried  his 
point.  But  the  Indian  workman  will  rise  in 
the  social  scale  in  spite  of  the  new  literary 
caste." 

"In  England  we  have  scarcely  begun  to  real- 
ize that  there  is  an  industrial  class  in  this  coun- 
try, yet,  I  suppose,  the  example  of  men,  like 
Edwards,  for  instance,  must  tell,"  said  Pagett, 
thoughtfully. 

"That  you  shouldn't  know  much  about  it  is 
natural  enough,  for  there  are  but  few  sources 
of  information.  India  in  this,  as  in  other  re- 
spects, is  like  a  badly  kept  ledger — not  written 
up  to  date.  And  men  like  Edwards  are,  in 
reality,  missionaries,  who  by  precept  and  ex- 
ample are  teaching  more  lessons  than  they 
know.  Only  a  few,  however,  of  their  crowds 
of  subordinates  seem  to  care  to  try  to  emulate 
them,  and  aim  at  individual  advancement;  the 
rest  drop  into  the  ancient  Indian  caste  groove." 

"How  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Pagett. 


"Well,  it  is  found  that  the  new  railway  and 
factory  workmen,  the  fitter,  the  smith,  the  en- 
gine-driver, and  the  rest  are  already  forming 
separate  hereditary  castes.  You  may  notice  this 
down  at  Jamalpur  in  Bengal,  one  of  the  oldest 
railway  centres;  and  at  other  places,  and  in 
other  industries,  they  are  following  the  same 
inexorable  Indian  law." 

"Which  means?" — queried  Pagett. 

"It  means  that  the  rooted  habit  of  the  peo- 
ple is  to  gather  in  small  self-contained,  self- 
sufficing  family  groups  with  no  thought  or 
care  for  any  interests  but  their  own — a  habit 
which  is  scarcely  compatible  with  the  right  ac- 
ceptation of  the  elective  principle." 

"Yet  you  must  admit,  Orde,  that  though 
our  young  friend  was  not  able  to  expound  the 
faith  that  is  in  him,  your  Indian  army  is  too 
big." 

"Not  nearly  big  enough  for  its  main  pur- 
pose. And,  as  a  side  issue,  there  are  certain 
powerful  minorities  of  fighting  folk  whose  in- 
terests an  Asiatic  Government  is  bound  to  con- 
sider. Arms  is  as  much  a  means  of  livelihood 
as  civil  employ  under  Government  and  law. 
And  it  would  be  a  heavy  strain  on  British  bay- 
onets to  hold  down  Sikhs,  Jats,  Bilochis,  Ro- 
hillas,  Rajputs,  Bhils,  Dogras,  Pathans, 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  221 

Gurkhas  to  abide  by  the  decisions  of  a  numeri- 
cal majority  opposed  to  their  interests.  Leave 
the  'numerical  majority'  to  itself  without  the 
British  bayonets — a  flock  of  sheep  might  as 
reasonably  hope  to  manage  a  troop  of  collies." 

"This  complaint  about  excessive  growth  of 
the  army  is  akin  to  another  contention  of  the 
Congress  party.  They  protest  against  the  mal- 
versation of  the  whole  of  the  moneys  raised  by 
additional  taxes  as  a  Famine  Insurance  Fund 
to  other  purposes.  You  must  be  aware  that 
this  special  Famine  Fund  has  all  been  spent  on 
frontier  roads  and  defences  and  strategic  rail- 
way schemes  as  a  protection  against  Russia." 

"But  there  was  never  a  special  famine  fund 
raised  by  special  taxation  and  put  by  as  in  a 
box.  No  sane  administrator  would  dream  of 
such  a  thing.  In  a  time  of  prosperity  a  finance 
minister,  rejoicing  in  a  margin,  proposed  to 
annually  apply  a  million  and  a  half  to  the  con- 
struction of  railways  and  canals  for  the  pro- 
tection of  districts  liable  to  scarcity,  and  to  the 
reduction  of  the  annual  loans  for  public  works. 
But  times  were  not  always  prosperous,  and  the 
finance  minister  had  to  choose  whether  he 
would  hang  up  the  insurance  scheme  for  a 
year  or  impose  fresh  taxation.  When  a 
farmer  hasn't  g-ot  the  little  surplus  he  hope«1  to 


222        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

have  for  buying  a  new  wagon  and  draining 
a  low-lying  field  corner,  you  don't  accuse  him 
of  malversation,  if  he  spends  what  he  has  on 
the  necessary  work  of  the  rest  of  his  farm." 

A  clatter  of  hoofs  was  heard,  and  Orde 
looked  up  with  vexation,  but  his  brow  cleared 
as  a  horseman  halted  under  the  porch. 

"Hello,  Orde!  just  looked  in  to  ask  if  you 
are  coming  to  polo  on  Tuesday :  we  want  you 
badly  to  help  to  crumple  up  the  Krab  Bokhar 
team." 

Orde  explained  that  he  had  to  go  out  into 
the  District,  and  while  the  visitor  complained 
that  though  good  men  wouldn't  play,  duffers 
were  always  keen,  and  that  his  side  would 
probably  be  beaten,  Pagett  rose  to  look  at  his 
mount,  a  red,  lathered  Biloch  mare,  with  a  cu- 
rious lyrelike  incurving  of  the  ears.  "Quite  a 
little  thoroughbred  in  all  other  respects,"  said 
the  M.P.,  and  Orde  presented  Mr.  Reginald 
Burke,  Manager  of  the  Sind  and  Sialkote 
Bank  to  his  friend. 

"Yes,  she's  as  good  as  they  make  'em,  and 
she's  all  the  female  I  possess  and  spoiled  in 
consequence,  aren't  you,  old  girl  ?"  said  Burke, 
patting  the  mare's  glossy  neck  as  she  backed 
and  plunged. 

"Mr.  Pagett,"  said  Orde,  "has  been  asking 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  223 

me  about  the  Congress.  What  is  your  opin- 
ion?" Burke  turned  to  the  M.P.  with  a  frank 
smile. 

"Well,  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  sir,  I 
should  say,  'Damn  the  Congress,'  but  then  I'm 
no  politician,  but  only  a  business  man." 

"You  find  it  a  tiresome  subject  ?" 

"Yes,  it's  all  that,  and  worse  than  that,  for 
this  kind  of  agitation  is  anything  but  whole- 
some for  the  country." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"It  would  be  a  long  job  to  explain,  and  Sara 
here  won't  stand,  but  you  know  how  sensitive 
capital  is,  and  how  timid  investors  are.  All 
this  sort  of  rot  is  likely  to  frighten  them,  and 
we  can't  afford  to  frighten  them.  The  passen- 
gers aboard  an  ocean  steamer  don't  feel  reas- 
sured when  the  ship's  way  is  stopped,  and  they 
hear  the  workmen's  hammers  tinkering  at  the 
engines  down  below.  The  old  Ark's  going  on 
all  right  as  she  is,  and  only  wants  quiet  and 
room  to  move. '  Them's  my  sentiments,  and 
those  of  some  other  people  who  have  to  do 
with  money  and  business." 

"Then  you  are  a  thick-and-thin  supporter 
of  the  Government  as  it  is." 

"Why,  no!  The  Indian  Government  is 
much  too  timid  with  its  money — like  an  old 


224        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

maiden  aunt  of  mine — always  in  a  funk  about 
her  investments.  They  don't  spend  half 
enough  on  railways  for  instance,  and  they  are 
slow  in  a  general  way,  and  ought  to  be  made 
to  sit  up  in  all  that  concerns  the  encourage- 
ment of  private  enterprise,  and  coaxing  out 
into  use  the  millions  of  capital  that  lie  dor- 
mant in  the  country." 

The  mare  was  dancing  with  impatience,  and 
Burke  was  evidently  anxious  to  be  off,  so  the 
men  wished  him  good-bye. 

"Who  is  your  genial  friend  who  condemns 
both  Congress  and  Government  in  a  breath?" 
asked  Pagett,  with  an  amused  smile. 

"Just  now  he  is  Reggie  Burke,  keener  on 
polo  than  on  anything  else,  but  if  you  go  to  the 
Sind  and  Sialkote  Bank  to-morrow  you  would 
find  Mr.  Reginald  Burke  a  very  capable  man 
of  business,  known  and  liked  by  an  immense 
constituency  North  and  South  of  this." 

"Do  you  think  he  is  right  about  the  Govern- 
ment's want  of  enterprise?" 

"I  should  hesitate  to  say.  Better  consult 
the  merchants  and  chambers  of  commerce  in 
Cawnpore,  Madras,  Bombay,  and  Calcutta. 
But  though  these  bodies  would  like,  as  Reggie 
puts  it,  to  make  Government  sit  up,  it  is  an 
elementary  consideration  in  governing  a  coun- 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  225 

try  like  India,  which  must  be  administered  for 
the  benefit  of  the  people  at  large,  that  the 
counsels  of  those  who  resort  to  it  for  the  sake 
of  making  money  should  be  judiciously 
weighed  and  not  allowed  to  overpower  the 
rest.  They  are  welcome  guests  here,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  but  it  has  been  found  best  to 
restrain  their  influence.  Thus  the  rights  of 
plantation  laborers,  factory  operatives,  and 
the  like,  have  been  protected,  and  the  capital- 
ist, eager  to  get  on,  has  not  always  regarded 
Government  action  with  favor.  It  is  quite  con- 
ceivable that  under  an  elective  system  the  com- 
mercial communities  of  the  great  towns  might 
find  means  to  secure  majorities  on  labor  ques- 
tions and  on  financial  matters." 

"They  would  act  at  least  with  intelligence 
and  consideration." 

"Intelligence,  yes;  but  as  to  consideration, 
who  at  the  present  moment  most  bitterly  re- 
sents the  tender  solicitude  of  Lancashire  for 
the  welfare  and  protection  of  the  Indian  fac- 
tory operative?  English  and  native  capitalists 
running  cotton  mills  and  factories." 

"But  is  the  solitude  of  Lancashire  in  this 
matter  entirely  disinterested?" 

"It  is  no  business  of  mine  to  say.  I  merely 
indicate  an  example  of  how  a  powerful  com- 


226        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

mercial  interest  might  hamper  a  Government 
intent  in  the  first  place  on  the  larger  interests 
of  humanity." 

Orde  broke  off  to  listen  a  moment.  "There's 
Dr.  Lathrop  talking  to  my  wife  in  the  draw- 
ing-room," said  he. 

"Surely  not;  that's  a  lady's  voice,  and  if  my 
ears  don't  deceive  me,  an  American." 

"Exactly,  Dr.  Eva  McCreery  Lathrop,  chief 
of  the  new  Women's  Hospital  here,  and  a  very 
good  fellow  forbye.  Good-morning,  Doctor," 
he  said,  as  a  graceful  figure  came  out  on  the 
veranda,  "you  seem  to  be  in  trouble.  I  hope 
Mrs.  Orde  was  able  to  help  you." 

"Your  wife  is  real  kind  and  good,  I  always 
come  to  her  when  I'm  in  a  fix,  but  I  fear  it's 
more  than  comforting  I  want." 

"You  work  too  hard  and  wear  yourself 
out,"  said  Orde,  kindly.  "Let  me  introduce 
my  friend,  Mr.  Pagett,  just  fresh  from  home, 
and  anxious  to  learn  his  India.  You  could 
tell  him  something  of  that  more  important  half 
of  which  a  mere  man  knows  so  little." 

"Perhaps  I  could  if  I'd  any  heart  to  do  it, 
but  I'm  in  trouble,  I've  lost  a  case  that  was 
doing  well,  through  nothing  in  the  world  but 
inattention  on  the  part  of  a  nurse  I  had  begun 
to  trust.  And  when  I  spoke  only  a  small  piece 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  227 

of  my  mind  she  collapsed  in  a  whining  heap 
on  the  floor.  It  is  hopeless!" 

The  men  were  silent,  for  the  blue  eyes  of  the 
lady  doctor  were  dim.  Recovering  herself  she 
looked  up  with  a  smile,  half  sad,  half  humor- 
ous, "And  I  am  in  a  whining  heap,  too;  but 
what  phase  of  Indian  life  are  you  particularly 
interested  in,  sir?" 

"Mr.  Pagett  intends  to  study  the  political 
aspect  of  things  and  the  possibility  of  bestow- 
ing electoral  institutions  on  the  people." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  as  much  to  the  purpose  to 
bestow  point-lace  collars  on  them?  They  need 
many  things  more  urgently  than  votes.  Why 
it's  like  giving  a  bread-pill  for  a  broken  leg." 

"Er — I  don't  quite  follow,"  said  Pagett,  un- 
easily. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter  with  this  country 
is  not  in  the  least  political,  but  an  all  round 
entanglement  of  physical,  social,  and  moral 
evils  and  corruptions,  all  more  or  less  due  to 
the  unnatural  treatment  of  women.  You  can't 
gather  figs  from  thistles,  and  so  long  as  the 
system  of  infant  marriage,  the  prohibition  of 
the  remarriage  of  widows,  the  lifelong  impris- 
onment of  wives  and  mothers  in  a  worse  than 
penal  confinement,  and  the  withholding  from 
them  of  any  kind  of  education  or  treatment  as 


228        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

rational  beings  continues,  the  country  can't 
advance  a  step.  Half  of  it  is  morally  dead, 
and  worse  than  dead,  and  that's  just  the  half 
from  which  we  have  a  right  to  look  for  the 
best  impulses.  It's  right  here  where  the 
trouble  is,  and  not  in  any  political  considera- 
tions whatsoever." 

"But  do  they  marry  so  early?"  said  Pagett, 
vaguely. 

"The  average  age  is  seven,  but  thousands 
are  married  still  earlier.  One  result  is  that 
girls  of  twelve  and  thirteen  have  to  bear  the 
burden  of  wifehood  and  motherhood,  and,  as 
might  be  expected,  the  rate  of  mortality  both 
for  mothers  and  children  is  terrible.  Pauper- 
ism, domestic  unhappiness,  and  a  low  state  of 
health  are  only  a  few  of  the  consequences  of 
this.  Then,  when,  as  frequently  happens,  the 
boy-husband  dies  prematurely,  his  widow  is 
condemned  to  worse  than  death.  She  may 
not  re-marry,  must  live  a  secluded  and  de- 
spised life,  a  life  so  unnatural,  that  she  some- 
times prefers  suicide;  more  often  she  goes 
astray.  You  don't  know  in  England  what 
such  words  as  'infant-marriage,  baby-wife, 
girl-mother,  and  virgin-widow'  mean ;  but  they 
mean  unspeakable  horrors  here." 

"Well,  but  the  advanced  political  party  here 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  229 

will  surely  make  it  their  business  to  advocate 
social  reforms  as  well  as  political  ones,"  said 
Pagett. 

"Very  surely  they  will  do  no  such  thing," 
said  the  lady  doctor,  emphatically.  "I  wish  I 
could  make  you  understand.  Why,  even  of 
the  funds  devoted  to  the  Marchioness  of  Duf- 
ferin's  organization  for  medical  aid  to  the 
women  of  India,  it  was  said  in  print  and  in 
speech,  that  they  would  be  better  spent  on 
more  college  scholarships  for  men.  And  in 
all  the  advanced  parties'  talk — God  forgive 
them — and  in  all  their  programmes,  they  care- 
fully avoid  all  such  subjects.  They  will  talk 
about  the  protection  of  the  cow,  for  that's  an 
ancient  superstition — they  can  all  understand 
that ;  but  the  protection  of  the  women  is  a  new 
and  dangerous  idea."  She  turned  to  Pagett 
impulsively : 

"You  are  a  member  of  the  English  Parlia- 
ment. Can  you  do  nothing?  The  founda- 
tions of  their  life  are  rotten — utterly  and  bes- 
tially rotten.  I  could  tell  your  wife  things  that 
I  couldn't  tell  you.  I  know  the  life — the  inner 
life  that  belongs  to  the  native,  and  I  know 
nothing  else ;  and  believe  me  you  might  as  well 
try  to  grow  golden-rod  in  a  mushroom-pit  as 
to  make  anything  of  a  people  that  are  born  and 


230        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

reared  as  these — these  things  are.  The  men 
talk  of  their  rights  and  privileges.  I  have 
seen  the  women  that  bear  these  very  men,  and 
again — may  God  forgive  the  men !" 

Pagett's  eyes  opened  with  a  large  wonder. 
Dr.  Lathrop  rose  tempestuously. 

"I  must  be  off  to  lecture,"  said  she,  "and  I'm 
sorry  that  I  can't  show  you  my  hospital;  but 
you  had  better  believe,  sir,  that  it's  more  nec- 
essary for  India  than  all  the  elections  in  cre- 
ation." 

"That's  a  woman  with  a  mission,  and  no 
mistake,"  said  Pagett,  after  a  pause. 

"Yes;  she  believes  in  her  work,  and  so  do 
I,"  said  Orde.  "I've  a  notion  that  in  the  end 
it  will  be  found  that  the  most  helpful  work 
done  for  India  in  this  generation  was  wrought 
by  Lady  Dufferin  in  drawing  attention — what 
work  that  was,  by  the  way,  even  with  her  hus- 
band's great  name  to  back  it ! — to  the  needs  of 
women  here.  In  effect,  native  habits  and  be- 
liefs are  an  organized  conspiracy  against  the 
laws  of  health  and  happy  life — but  there  is 
some  dawning  of  hope  now." 

"How  d'  you  account  for  the  general  indif- 
ference, then?" 

"I  suppose  it's  due  in  part  to  their  fatalism 
and  their  utter  indifference  to  all  human  suf- 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  231 

faring.  How  much  do  you  imagine  the  great 
province  of  the  Punjab  with  over  twenty  mil- 
lion people  and  half  a  score  rich  towns  has 
contributed  to  the  maintenance  of  civil  dispen- 
saries last  year?  About  seven  thousand  ru- 
pees." 

"That's  seven  hundred  pounds,"  said  Pa- 
gett,  quickly. 

"I  wish  it  was,"  replied  Orde;  "but  anyway, 
it's  an  absurdly  inadequate  sum,  and  shows 
one  of  the  blank  sides  of  Oriental  character." 

Pagett  was  silent  for  a  long  time.  The 
question  of  direct  and  personal  pain  did  not 
lie  within  his  researches.  He  preferred  to  dis- 
cuss the  weightier  matters  of  the  law,  and  con- 
tented himself  with  murmuring:  "They'll  do 
better  later  on."  Then,  with  a  rush,  returning 
to  his  first  thought: 

"But,  my  dear  Orde,  if  it's  merely  a  class 
movement  of  a  local  and  temporary  character, 
how  d'  you  account  for  Bradlaugh,  who  is  at 
least  a  man  of  sense,  taking  it  up?" 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  champion  of  the 
New  Brahmins  but  what  I  see  in  the  papers.  I 
suppose  there  is  something  tempting  in  being 
hailed  by  a  large  assemblage  as  the  representa- 
tive of  the  aspirations  of  two  hundred  and 
fifty  millions  of  people.  Such  a  man  looks 


232        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

'through  all  the  roaring  and  the  wreaths/  and 
does  not  reflect  that  it  is  a  false  perspective, 
which,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  hides  the  real  com- 
plex and  manifold  India  from  his  gaze.  He  can 
scarcely  be  expected  to  distinguish  between  the 
ambitions  of  a  new  oligarchy  and  the  real 
wants  of  the  people  of  whom  he  knows  noth- 
ing. But  it's  strange  that  a  professed  Radical 
should  come  to  be  the  chosen  advocate  of  a 
movement  which  has  for  its  aim  the  revival  of 
an  ancient  tyranny.  Shows  how  even  Radi- 
calism can  fall  into  academic  grooves  and  miss 
the  essential  truths  of  its  own  creed.  Believe 
me,  Pagett,  to  deal  with  India  you  want  first- 
hand knowledge  and  experience.  I  wish  he 
would  come  and  live  here  for  a  couple  of  years 
or  so." 

"Is  not  this  rather  an  ad  hominem  style  of 
argument?" 

"Can't  help  it  in  a  case  like  this.  Indeed,  I 
am  not  sure  you  ought  not  to  go  further  and 
weigh  the  whole  character  and  quality  and  up- 
bringing of  the  man.  You  must  admit  that 
the  monumental  complacency  with  which  he 
trotted  out  his  ingenious  little  Constitution  for 
India  showed  a  strange  want  of  imagination 
and  the  sense  of  humor." 

"No,  I  don't  quite  admit  it,"  said  Pagett. 


OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  233 

"Well,  you  know  him  and  I  don't,  but  that's 
how  it  strikes  a  stranger."  He  turned  on  his 
heel  and  paced  the  veranda  thoughtfully. 
"And,  after  all,  the  burden  of  the  actual,  daily 
unromantic  toil  falls  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
men  out  here,  and  not  on  his  own.  He  enjoys 
all  the  privileges  of  recommendation  without 
responsibility,  and  we — well,  perhaps,  when 
you've  seen  a  little  more  of  India  you'll  under- 
stand. To  begin  with,  our  death  rate's  five 
times  higher  than  yours — I  speak  now  for  the 
brutal  bureaucrat — and  we  work  on  the  refuse 
of  worked-out  cities  and  exhausted  civiliza- 
tions, among  the  bones  of  the  dead." 

Pagett  laughed.  "That's  an  epigrammatic 
way  of  putting  it,  Orde." 

"Is  it?  Let's  see,"  said  the  Deputy  Com- 
missioner of  Amara,  striding  into  the  sun- 
shine toward  a  half-naked  gardener  potting 
roses.  He  took  the  man's  hoe,  and  went  to  a 
rain-scarped  bank  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden. 

"Come  here,  Pagett,"  he  said,  and  cut  at 
the  sun-baked  soil.  After  three  strokes  there 
rolled  from  under  the  blade  of  the  hoe  the  half 
of  a  clanking  skeleton  that  settled  at  Pagett's 
feet  in  an  unseemly  jumble  of  bones.  The 
M.P.  drew  back. 

"Our  houses  are  built  on  cemeteries,"  saic 


234        THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS 

Orde.  "There  are  scores  of  thousands  of 
graves  within  ten  miles." 

Pagett  was  contemplating  the  skull  with  the 
awed  fascination  of  a  man  who  has  but  little  to 
do  with  the  dead.  "India's  a  very  curious 
place,"  said  he,  after  a  pause. 

"Ah?  You'll  know  all  about  it  in  three 
months.  Come  in  to  lunch,"  said  Orde. 


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